The Tiniest Wish
by Brenn.K
Summary: The tiniest wish can make all the difference. A Slytherin-sorted Harry, a not so soft Narcissa, and a very, very large familiar are just a few things to take note of when Severus does not see James Potter when he first looks at Harry. Hiatus: 1/12-3/12 .
1. Chapter 1

The Tiniest Wish

Rating: G

Summary: The tiniest wish might have changed so many things.

**The Tiniest Wish**

"Harry Potter"

The entire Great Hall went silent as the tiny child, with legs almost as spindly as the stool he was trying to climb, finally settled himself on the stool as he was engulfed by the sorting hat. To everyone's surprise, instead of placing him almost immediately as it had Malfoy and some of the other children, the sorting hat hemmed and hawed grumbling one house title after another.

"Gryf—" the hat started to announce but abruptly changed it: "Slyt – for Merlin's sake child, make up your mind. Your housemates would like to eat sometime this century." The hat finished – chastising the boy to the shock of the professors and students both, who had never heard the hat taking on such a tone. Only Severus noticed that the headmaster's bemused frown had broadened into an intrigued smile at the development.

By the time he turned his attention back to the sorting hat and nervously twitching boy, the hat's tone had softened: "You're equally suited to all of them child, and they each have something to offer in return. What is it you want most, boy?" Strangely the hat's voice hardened again at the word boy and seemed to have a drastic effect on the child.

Shuddering, the boy whimpered barely loud enough for Severus to pick up the sound, then murmured so softly that Severus wouldn't have known what was said if he had not been reading the child's lips.

"Please, I don't … I- don't want to be – hurt – or other stuff -- anymore. Where can I stay that I won't have to go back to the Dursley's ever again?"

Even as the sorting hat was explaining that none of the houses could promise that, the shocked potions professor studied the too-small child, whose robes were barely covering overly large trainers and rolled up jeans. Intensely staring at the child, who was balling his fists into his robes anxiously as he realized that he was the center of attention, Severus saw the last person he expected to see reflected of in the child – himself.

Feeling the professor's stare on him, Potter turned his head and cocked it just enough that he saw the man's face as Severus mouthed "Slytherin."

Though the sorting hat pushing against his glasses made it difficult for Harry to appraise the dour-seeming man, what he could see made him feel better when he quietly asked the hat who the man was. He looked big enough, dark enough, and dangerous enough to intimidate even Harry's Uncle Vernon, and if he was the head of the Slytherin house and said that Harry would be safe there - Harry felt like he could trust it.

"Slytherin, then." The hat announced with equanimity, despite the shocked silence throughout the hall.

After meditating on the small gold hourglass hanging as a strange charm on a long dangling chain, Headmaster Dumbledore looked up in surprise to find that the last child had been sorted. Forgetting suddenly the Gryffindor themed speech he had prepared to welcome the chosen one, he mumbled several oddities that even he didn't remember moments later and signaled for the house elves to serve.

Settling back to his own meal, Dumbledore absent-mindedly ate as he reviewed the results of his meditations on the time turner:

_If the time turner was correct, in the first year, Potter would seems to settle well into the Slytherin House with the professor's help. Quite unbelievably - and yet the time turner was quite clear on the subject - with Malfoy's assistance, Harry develops a click easily as loyal and tight as the alternate Gryffindor trio that still forms quite surprisingly around Neville. _

The headmaster paused on that thought for the briefest of moments. _Had he possibly misinterpreted the prophecy? The word mark could mean a variety of things, including viewing a target. Had Tom considered Neville his equal and sought to change the prophecy?_ He set his musing aside to consider later, though it would bear well if he paid young Neville more attention as well.

_Harry doesn't chase Quirrell in his search for the stone, and the defense professor dies from a backlash of Voldemort's rage when they fail to remove the stone from the mirror of erised. Without having direct physical contact with Potter, Voldemort does not learn of the physical protection his mother's sacrifice gave him._

Certainly it was a protection that Neville would not have, but - studying the frail child that had virtually begged not to be sent back to his relatives, Albus found it difficult to believe that young Harry could triumph against the prophecied foe.

_Yet, the timeturner's portents suggested that by Harry's second year, he would garner a powerful ally. With his son firmly entrenched in Potter's clique, Lucius Malfoy would develop an odd fascination for the boy that Severus uses to redirect Malfoy's loyalties enough that __Lucius pulls strings to enable Severus and Harry to have a private guardianship hearing before three members of the Wizengamot just before the beginning of the second year.__ The riddle diary is not returned to the school. The beast within the chamber of secrets is not set on the muggleborn students, and no one but Harry's inner circle learns that he's a parsletongue.  
_

"Well, keeping the child out of both Fudge and Scrimgeour's clutches could only be to the good." He mumured softly and waved off Severus's speculative glance. Of course, Severus would have overheard that. Sometimes the man was far to keen, but turned to Harry's benefit...

_Severus would finalize Harry's adoption by the beginning of the third year, and Harry moves into the dungeon's with the Potion's professor. Not taking the Hogwart's express back, Harry was going to avoid becoming the target of the Dementors. On Severus's advice he takes a double of potions instead of Divination, so never hears the second prophecy. When Sirius shows up and still attacks Gryffindor tower, the staff realize that he was looking for something else and – with Remus Lupin's help, sort things out about Peter Pettigrew.__ Sirius Black's cleared but alienates Harry by criticizing his newly adopted father._

Sirius, the poor boy, was another matter; however, and perhaps it would be for the better if Harry were kept apart from his impetuous and sadly unstable godfather. Thankfully, Albus was relieved to note that he would not have to interfere to arrange the matter.

_ With a nudge from Malfoy Sr. the Wizengamot denies Sirius a custody hearing until he receives counseling and treatment for the residual influence of his stay in Azkaban._

In fact, Albus was quite glad to see that Severus and Lucius seemed to be taking on a great many matters that he would rather avoid taking a direct hand in - allowing him to work behind the scenes.

_In fourth year, fearing that the Triwizard cup would be an ideal opportunity to threaten Harry, Severus would station his fifth, sixth, and seventh years at the goblet around the clock. When Harry's name comes out, their memories are used to prove that Harry did not put his own name in and therefore could not legally or magically be held to the magical contract... Sadly, Viktor Krum does not survive the tournament, and when the revived Voldemort, minus Harry's blood protections, calls for the return of his death eaters, Lucius Malfoy goes with the intent of spying for Severus and Harry as well as locating the other Horocruxes._

Would those tip the balance? The time turner suggested it might, but how could one be so certain. A single word or glance could have the most unexpected ripples on time. Glancing back into the time turner, he spun it again, hoping to coax it slightly further, even though he knew that the further ahead he looked, the less certain he could be.

Staring into its depths, he watched Harry's fifth year withmixed curiosity and disbelief. It followed naturally on what he had seen so far, but was so far from the results of what would have happened if Harry had chosen Gryffindor.

_Still, the time turner was quite insistant that in his fifth year, with the Dark Lord returned, Narcissa and Draco would move into Hogwarts under Severus's protection, and give Harry the first experience of being welcomed as part of a family. With Narcissa and Draco to offer Harry support, Severus decides it's time to tell Harry of both the prophecy and the horocruxes, as well as the need to study legillimency. Trusting Severus, and with the Malfoys' assistance, he learns quickly and is easily able to recognize the false visions as well as control his interaction through the link with Voldemort, so that Malfoy is able to give up his spying before they set a trap for Voldemort at the ministry. Harry and Voldemort have their first direct confrontation with Voldemort seriously injured by his attempt to both physically and mentally overpower Harry. Harry on the other hand comes away relatively unscathed, suffering only a scar from a cutting curse that Bellatrix Lestrange cast at him._

The impressions from the time-turner grew vague after that, but it seemed to offer such a promising start… if it was handled right.

Still, while the boy survived the confrontation with Voldemort, others had before. Was it enough to suggest that he truly was the prophesied child? Voldemort knew of the protections, and no where in the timeturner's recollections did it show him possessing powers that would tip the balance.

_"Ah Well_," He sighed mentally; it would be another sleepless night before the pensieve.

Lifting his eyes to watch his potion's master, Albus was relieved to see the man sweeping his eyes across his group of Slytherins… catching their eyes with glances that held a very clear warning – Harry Potter was under his protection. In between his warning glances, Severus shot the boy encouraging glares – if a glare could be considered encouraging – whenever Harry hesitated in reaching for more food or drink.

By the time Dumbledore realized that he had cleared his plate without tasting a single item on it, Severus had laid his napkin on the table and was gesturing to the sated child with a careful head gesture that invited the boy to walk with him.

When the child stumbled over his trainers and fell against Professor Snape, the headmaster watched wryly as the professor shocked the entire staff by bending down to speak with the child for a moment then gently picking the boy up.

Yes, despite the questions it brought, it was a very promising start, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry Met Salazar

Rating – G

Series – A vignette in the _The Tiniest Wish_ AU.

Sumary: Harry's first meeting with his Slytherin Housemate comes as a surprise to everyone.

**When Harry Met Salazar**

Severus whispered for the boy in his arms to compose himself as he watched the string of his first years approach, led by Prefect Flint. Potter sat up stiffly in his arms and blinked away a gloss of tears that he had stoically refused to let fall. Though he had hidden it well, their brief interview had clearly frightened the child and disturbed Severus, who recognized from long experience that they had barely scratched the surface of the child's mistreatment.

When Flint and the curious string of sharp-eyed suspicious children finally reached the formal entrance to the Slytherin House, Severus reached down and gently plucked the over-sized trainers off of the child he carried and banished them with a flick of his hand as he set the child down. Potter blushed fiercely but seemed to realize that he was less likely to fall in his ratty socks than if he were in his cousin Dudley's shoes.

"Parkinson?" Severus questioned softly.

"Here Sir," a flouncy blonde spoke up.

"Step in behind her, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Sir." Potter answered quietly and shuffled quickly to the indicated spot behind the girl, not daring to look up as he passed his classmates. As soon as he reached the spot, the professor turned to face the alcove they had been standing in and hissed.

When he turned back, intricate snakes - lining the outside arch framing the alcove- seemed to come alive rolling and hissing at each other in excitement as they slid into a new pattern framing a door that had materialized as they watched the writhing forms.

"You are formally welcomed to Slytherin: the living legacy of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Whatever your lineage and background, half-blood, pure-blood, or ancient blood, wealthy or impoverished, foreign or native – it matters not. Within these halls, within this school, you are of the same family, of the same lineage, of the same blood and status: you are the heirs of Slytherin. You will be treated as such and expected to behave as such.

You will find that, due to misconceptions that are too long held to be disproved, the other houses will hold you in suspicion and treat you with animosity. It has been this way for several centuries, for reasons that will be explained shortly. If they believe that any of you are weak and stand alone, they will pick you off as quickly as they can and use your weakness as a starting point from which to gnaw away at your year mates and house mates. For this reason, once you leave this hall, you will be united thought and purpose – to bring pride and accomplishment to your house. Any discord you may have with any other member of your house will cease to exist when you step past this threshold and only resume when you are once again within its confines. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" the string of children chorused brightly.

"Very well. Enter, take a seat on the benches facing the founder's painting, and we shall begin. From this point onward, do not speak again until your name is called. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir!"

Stepping out of the way, Severus offered them a thin-lipped smile as they nervously marched forward. One by one, they reached the arch, eyed the snakes who were still hissing excitedly as they passed, glanced at him for reassurance, and stepped through… until Potter approached. The child had kept his head down the entire march forward and only lifted it in response to the snakes increased hissing as he reached the door.

"_Lift your head little Slytherin," _One stone snake called.

"_You've nothing to fear here, even one as small as you. Asps can be as deadly as Boas." _Another reassured.

"_We'll let no one in who would harm you," _A third snake boasted

As he reached the door, Potter glanced at Severus uncertainly before he seemed to make a decision. The professor had said he couldn't speak, but…

"_Thank you!" _Potter hissed quickly and stepped through before the Severus and the snakes could get over their shock.

As the last student, Blaise Zabini was stepping through, the snakes finally erupted – frightening the child so badly that he tripped on the door frame and was only caught by the quidditch sharp reflexes of a startled Flint.

_He's a speaker. A speaker in the house. How long has it been? Who is he, Housemaster? Who is the new speaker? Does he have a familiar? There are many fine snakes in the forest, who would bond themselves to have a speaker as a familiar. There is another who has been waiting for a speaker for many years. She has served long and loyally, but wishes for her release. Speak to the child for her. _

The stone snakes rushed furiously towards Severus hissing explosively until he answered them softly, "You know that I can not understand you beyond the few words I have been taught. After the ceremony send a single representative to the portrait of Salazar in my office and I will answer what questions I can."

Hissing disappointedly, they nevertheless settled down and allowed him to follow Flint through before they obediently crawled into a third pattern that erased any trace of the entry into solid stone.

As he stalked down the long walk, past the anxious rows of first years who were trying not to quail under the grim calculating eyes of the second through seventh years students that surrounded them – lining the head of the room like a student wizengamot, Severus had to force himself not to study Potter. Reaching the head of the room, he stepped into the only empty area in the room (an inlaid silver circle twenty feet in diameter that stood just before a taller-than-live-sized portrait of Salazar Slytherin) and cleared his throat.

The older students quickly quieted, though Flint's report of the alcove snakes' odd behavior was clearly buzzing around the room. Their glares at Potter were somewhat harder to quell, but several well-placed glances and his on-going stiff silence soon had their attentions focused completely on him as he began.

"From the time of our founder, represented by the portrait behind me, Slytherin house has maintained a longstanding tradition that has never been broken from his day to ours – the Slytherin pact. The pact was initiated to initiate your integration into a new family with whom you will spend the majority of your magical development – your Slytherin family. In the old tradition of magical fostering – noble pure blood and ancient blood families required the children they received to cut their ties with their former families by revealing the family secrets that they held to demonstrate that there would not be a conflict of interest. We continue in this tradition – not asking that you renounce your first family; but demanding instead that you start afresh – having no secrets from those with whom you will share this next step towards adulthood and full wizardry."

"However, as secrets are held to protect others, every member of this house will take and refresh –each year- a binding oath that nothing shared today will be spoken of to anyone in the outside world – with the necessary exception of revelation to protect the confessor's life and family. Salazar, if you would?"

Making it clear that they would have no option, Severus paused to glance quickly at the boy who lived. As expected, the child was almost bloodless with panic as the portrait lead the room in the oath. The room glowed amber as each child's magic rose to meet and blend with the others before returning to its respective child. Watching carefully, Severus waited with concern as Potter seemed to hold back from the process. From their brief discussion, he understood why the boy was hesitating, but several students – having finished their own oaths were now watching him hawkishly – and it would not be good for the boy to delay much longer. Finally, the child seemed to slump in on himself and a broad field of amber circled him expanding outward briefly before returning quickly.

With the oath taken and their attention on 'him', the portrait cleared its throat.

"In interests of fairness, and as is traditional, I shall go first. Each of you, to be chosen for this house, have shown some measure of cunning, craft, ambition, and resilience. These traits were among the traits valued highest by Salazar Slytherin of whom I am only the merest shadow. I am, however, a shadow that Salazar, himself, endowed with certain knowledge. During the founder's time, Salazar began to recognize several distressing events occurring that threatened the future of the wizarding world and magic itself. These primarily rose from the rapidly increasing spread of the muggle religions. Before that time, Salazar held nothing against muggles and believed that those gifted with magic should share equally in their training – regardless of their background.

As muggle religions, which tended to cast wizards and witches as poisoners of the mind and corrupters of the innocent, spread – their persecution of magic and magic users also spread. Over time, Salazar began to notice that as the wizarding world's interaction with the muggle world increased – magics that had been respected, taught, and put to benign use since the time of the ancients were being re-classified as dark because they used ingredients that were superstitiously feared by these muggles. Spit, saliva, hair, or blood; fairy tears, devil's claw, or witches trumpet; unicorn horn, hoof, or tears; phoenix feather, dragon's blood, and griffin claw … these items, often enough, were all that were necessary in many cases – to define a spell or potion as dark, regardless of the purpose and intent of the wizard. Salazar feared that, in time, the muggle incursion – particularly of very religious muggles – would eliminate magic itself and tried to persuade the other founders of his position. He was unsuccessful and eventually left.

Do not think, though, that you will not be welcomed in this house if you are muggle – you will be. Indeed, you would not have been chosen for this house were it not for your most important criteria: a willingness to evaluate objectively each material, tool, ingredient, and person that you come into contact with on the basis of their own qualities rather than the superstition of others. Remember this always, for you will hear many times before you graduate that Slytherin has produced many 'dark wizards'. By the current classification of magic, that is true, but do not confuse this with evil. Many light charms such as wingardium leviosa have been used cruelly and with more viciousness than the killing curse which kills painlessly and instantly, yet the wizards who used them have not been labeled dark if the classification looked at the purpose to which they were put – such as allowing an invalid wizard to have a dignified painless death. Regrettably, this degradation of magic continues and every year, an increasing number of benign spells are being labeled dark – sometimes simply by the association of who favored its use (as opposed to considering the majority and common purposes that it has been put to).

That is the secret I hold – the secret that binds us - that and the fact that within this castle lies a storehouse of ancient wisdom, which Salazar preserved until the heirs of Slytherin can reverse the degradation of magic."

In the silence that followed, Severus was pleased to see several pensive faces relax. It happened every year. After a moment, Severus stepped again into the circle and faced the first years, knowing the later years had already heard his participation in the pact.

"As mentioned previously, I am your head of house, or traditionally, your housemaster. Due to my other duties within the school, I have received permission from the previous head of house and Salazar's shadow to limit my 'confidences' to those which I had when I entered this house as a first year student – to do otherwise would require that I divulge the circumstances of other students, instructors, and administrators whose confidences you have no compelling right to know."

He paused for them to digest that then began again: "when I started Hogwarts, I hated myself because I had been trained to by my father. My mother was a pure-blood witch, and when my father found out, he hated her for it. He was part Romani- a gypsy, but he trying to get away from that life and had idealized her as a well-to-do gentile, whose property he could control through her and ultimately inherit. The reverse was true, and both my mother and I suffered for it until she attempted our escape when I was seven. For five years, we lived impoverished, but in relative safety until he employed the services of a Romani seeress to discover that my mother and I could be found at Platform 9 ¾'s at the beginning of the summer in my second year. During the time of our safety, I was tutored by my mother in potions, charms, and transfiguration as well as Defense against the Dark Arts. By the time I reached here as a first year student, I had learned almost an entire text of hexes, spells classified as Dark, and many classified as light with a single-minded focus on how they could best be used to protect my mother and myself.

Those are the secrets that I held when I entered this house as a first year."

When he looked up, Severus was not surprised to see tears streaming down their faces. It more or less happened every year. While he was by, all accounts an intensely private man, experience had demonstrated that Slytherin often drew an inordinate number of abused children, who were much easier to counsel when they knew that he had similar experiences. Potter did surprise him, though, when his gaze finally fell on the boy. The child's large green eyes were filled with pain and empathy, but the rest of his expression was crafted with intense determination and anger at what had happened to Severus. While the child might do little to protect himself, the professor suspected that if his own father had been there at the moment, the child might have launched himself at the man with his bare fists. As he studied the child's tiny face, making a note to himself to discuss with the boy his need to disguise his emotions and suppress any of his more Gryffindor urges should they arise.

He waited for the first years to quiet – then glanced at the list of student's who had been sorted into his house and called a name from the middle of the list.

"Mr. Lukins, come up here."

When the large-for-his-age boy joined him at the front of the room, Severus pulled a vial from his pocket and raised it for the room to see.

"To ease the process of confiding in your house, each of you will be given a single drop of veritiserum, a potion created to gently compel individuals to speak truthfully. The common dosage is three drops for children twelve and older. It's given as a crutch to overcome undue anxiety. When you have taken it, simply step into the circle and answer Salazar's questions."

Lukins nodded nervously, opened his mouth for the drop, stepped into the circle, and tried to find a place to start.

"Mr. Lukins, what are you most afraid to tell us?"

"I-I," Lukins paused for a second to swallow as the drop took effect and began again, "I tried to kill myself last year."

"Why?"

"I … My father told me if I didn't get into Hogwarts, he would disown me. My tutors think that I'm not smart enough to learn magic."

"Do you have any other secrets to share?"

"Yeah," Lukins whispered. "M-m-my mom d-drinks an awful lot when dad goes on business trips."

"Thank you for your confidence."

Lukins wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned to go back to his seat, but Flint caught his arm and gently guided him to an empty bench at the end of the second year's benches.

"Greengrass," Severus called name above Lukins.

The girl's confession was a minor note on stealing money from her sister's pouch, but Severus managed to suppress his sneer.

Malfoy's was to be expected, at least to Severus, who long had watched his former housemate pressuring his son to become a miniature clone of himself.

Dolohov's was rather surprising, if only for the fact that Severus rarely encountered eating disorders in male students.

"Nearguard," Severus paused as he noticed how badly the mousey young man who had answered his call was trembling.

"Nearguard," he murmured softly again as the boy opened his mouth reluctantly. "There are virtually no secret's that haven't been shared here. We will not judge you."

"You should."

"Why?" Salazar asked gently.

"I killed my brother."

Once the confession was out, the floodgates opened and the boy poured out a rather depressing anecdote describing how his younger brother had died after being thrown out of a tree by a burst of the first-year's accidental magic.

"Parkinson"

"Crabbe"

"Peters"

"Bullstrode"

The girl's confidence caught Severus by surprise because it so rarely occurred in recent years: her parents had entered her into an arranged marriage with an adult business partner, and the girl was planning on running away from home as soon as she thought she could get away.

Finally, Severus reached the name he had been anticipating: "Potter."

Salazar's questions had changed slightly with each child based on some nuance or other that he saw in their posture, but when Potter approached, took the drop, and stepped into the circle, the founder startled Severus with an almost harsh command.

"Remove your glamours, Mr. Potter."

"Glamours, Sir?!?" The boy asked in confusion.

"The spells disguising your appearance."

"I haven't … cast any spells."

"Don't mince words with me, Little Snake. It is contrary to the pact to hide even your true image from us. End the glamours that your family has cast." The portrait chastised irritably, ignoring Severus's quick headshake. Even as the boy turned his eyes to the professor.

"Salazar, the child's surviving family are muggles; they could not have cast a glamour."

"Be that as it may, his appearance is disguised and it is a mockery of the pact to accept him into Slytherin in this condition."

"Finite incantatem," Severus ordered softly – to no effect, and he arched his eyebrow at the portrait.

"The boy's appearance has been changed, I'm sure of it."

"Well, Mr. Potter, can you explain?"

The child looked up at him with panicked consternation that suddenly cleared as he offered a timid, "Maybe."

"Either you can or you cannot, Mr. Potter. Explain yourself, or you will indeed find yourself looking for a new house without even the memory of why this house found you unsatisfactory. We, however, will remember."

As his warning sunk in, the child grew considerably paler and his eyes widened in alarm as he answered: "Its-happened-before-but-I-don't-know-how-it-happened. I-I-I cha-cha-nged the w-w-ay I lo-ok." Potter's rapid response turned into a frightened stutter as he scanned the portrait's disbelieving expression. "M-my a-au-n-t c-cut my h-hair off – chunks of it, and it look-ed so ugly. I hated it so-o m-uch and sh-e – she – she d-id it on purpose, I know she did so no one here would like me. I didn't even know what my letter was about, and she was already trying to make sure I didn't have friends here."

"And how did your appearance change after she did that?" Severus interrupted the boy before he could get into the matter of his confession.

"I do-don't know." Potter answered in an anxious voice, but it was clearly the truth. "When I went to bed that night, I just didn't want to look …" his voice dropped into a half heard mumble.

"You didn't want to look like what?" Severus pressed.

"A freak. I didn't want to look like a freak in Dudley's used clothes, huge shoes, and sprouts of hair sticking out of my head." Potter answered with anger and hurt thick in his voice as his small fists clinched by his thighs. "I went to bed praying I wouldn't look like one, and whe-n I w-oke up…they got awfully mad at me. Aunt Petunia said I had done something to change my hair, but she wouldn't let me look in the mirror and called Uncle Vernon."

Potter broke off in a shudder, staring at the ground as he heard the other students snickering and gossiping about him looking like a freak in someone else's clothes – certain that now they knew, they would send him back. Hadn't the professor just suggested that he would be looking for somewhere else to live. But would anyone want him when he had been kicked out on the first day?

He failed to hear the intense discussion going on over his head. If he had, it might not have made much sense to him, but the intrigued tones that both the professor and the portrait were using might have made him feel less insecure of his welcome.

"Wish magic?" the portrait suggested.

"Possibly, but I suspect a traumatically triggered metamorphmagus."

Salazar studied the child carefully. The boy was so tiny for his age, with a definitely underfed look to him… and the way he shuddered. Yes, that was a possibility.

"We must know."

"Agreed. Mr. Potter." Severus called for the child's attention, but soon realized that the discussion had stirred up the exact fears the child had expressed on the sorting stool – no doubt causing the child to panic about his future as a result.

"Mr. Potter." Severus called again, more softly without response, then knelt in front of the tiny boy. Even kneeling, Severus seemed to loom over the child as he reached out and caught Potter's clinching fists.

"Harry…" Startled bright green eyes shot up in awed reaction. Severus wanted to inquire why using his name would cause such a reaction, but there would be time enough for that later.

"Sir?" the Potter asked hesitantly.

"Harry…" Severus paused momentarily as the child's eyes widened again, "It is understandable that you are reluctant to expose yourself to ridicule for your appearance, but many of your classmates have exposed far more personal details about their life. It would not be equitable to allow you to continue to disguise yourself so."

"I understand." Potter answered with an air of finality and took a step towards the door with his head downcast. Only Severus was positioned to see the child's unshed tears begin to roll down his cheek.

"No! That's not what I meant." Severus caught his arm as he passed. "Close your eyes."

"Sir?" confusion laced the child's question.

"Close your eyes and concentrate on looking as you actually are. Try to remove your emotions from the question for a moment and simply be as you are. If this is wish magic, I can guide you in making a wish to cancel the other wish, but let's try this first."

"Yes, Sir." Harry was willing to try anything. The professor seemed to want him there, and Harry wanted that more than he even wanted a safe place to live. Even if everyone else thought he was a freak, it could be okay. He was used to that, but no one had ever wanted him before – not enough to use his name anyway. So Harry closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could on not thinking about how the others would look at him, and on being how he was – just how he was – even if he was a freak.

His task became twice as difficult as the other students gasped at his real appearance, but he just kept on thinking as hard as he could that he would do exactly what the professor asked no matter what. He waited what seemed like a very long time with his eyes closed waiting for the professor's response.

Finally, Severus caught his breath and forced enough of it through his throat to murmur "Very good."

As the child opened beaming eyes, Severus tried to force an encouraging smile. It was difficult as he stared at the scarred, bruised, burned, and obviously starved frame of the beaming child, but whatever weak smile he was able to muster must have been enough because Harry's eyes lit up so brightly that for a brief second the dark bruised rings beneath his sunken eyes seemed to disappear in the happy glow. When Potter turned to the portrait and asked if he could share his secrets now, even the shadow of Slytherin seemed caught off guard.

Finally, the portrait settled on a simple statement: "Mr. Potter, begin."


	3. Chapter 3

Madam Pomfrey's Special Interest

Rating: G

Series: Another Vignette in _The Tiniest Wish_

Summary: While Severus walks a fine line between masters, there's one person who can successfully order him around, and Harry's about to meet her.

_**Madam Pomfrey's Special Interest**_

When Professor Snape favored him with what was clearly a welcoming smile (even on the Professor's grim features), Harry's breath seemed suddenly as if it had been stoppered in his lungs with only the tiniest hiss of air barely supporting the sobs that shook his delicate frame. Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the new and overwhelming feelings that tightened his throat, and he began to sway with dizziness bumping - first into the sullen girl that their housemaster had called Bullstrode and then into the blocky brunette that that had quietly introduced himself as Barian Bledsoe, when he sat beside Harry after finishing his pact.

"Professor!" The sullen girl called out in a shocked voice that caused Harry to wonder what could have happened even as he realized that he was on his knees.

That didn't make sense, though, he shouldn't be on his knees; no one else was. Reaching behind him, Harry tried to grab on the bench and pull himself back up, but only succeeded in pushing his arm at an awkward angle – reminding himself that he had wanted to remember to be careful with that arm. It hadn't felt quite right for the past few weeks since his uncle used it to drag him up the stairs while his aunt and cousin were at Piers something's birthday party. Getting hurt had been his own fault because he knew better than to fight his uncle when the man had been to the pub. He didn't know why he had, but for one brief moment, he had thought that his uncle was drunk enough for him to get away – so he tried.

"Harry?"

Shaking his head woozily, Harry tried to focus on the voice calling his name. Even though his eyes were to bleary to discern the dark figure standing over him, his mind easily recognized who it had to be.

"Pfsser?"

That was odd, his mouth wasn't working right.

"Lukins, Bulstrode, Goyle, Malfoy, Dolohov, Nearguard remain where you are. The remainder of you, follow your prefects to be assigned your suites. I would suggest that you retire early. There will be a house meeting at 5:30 a.m."

As the Slytherins filed out, no one was really surprised that Professor Snape had asked those others to stay behind. Well, maybe they were surprised about Malfoy, whose issue had not seemed quite as bad as the others; but, more than a few had been warned by their parents to be careful around the haughty blonde because of his death eater father and the rumor quickly spread – making his inclusion suddenly more logical as it occurred to some that disappointing a self-obsessed, death eater father might have serious consequences.

As soon as all but the six other first years that he had summoned had disappeared down the hall through a hidden door in the wall just behind Salazar's portrait, Severus picked Harry up and ordered the six others to follow them to his office.

"There are introductions to make."

Wondering why their Professor wasn't trying to ease their housemate's attack, Malfoy and Bulstrode took the lead. Behind them, Nearguard and Dolohov stepped into line after sharing a concerned glance. They knew why they had been chosen to stay behind, but that was in no way comforting.

It was well known that Slytherins were expected to maintain a strong, almost untouchable front, yet they had just confessed in front of their entire house exactly how weak they were. It wasn't even like Potter, their shared glance seemed to agree. Neither had expected that, but why should they? For years, it had been rumored that the boy-who-lived was being raised in the pampered comforts of doting relatives, instead of the hell that he'd been inflicted with.

"Severus! What on earth are you doing, allowing a child to hyperventilate like that? For Merlin's sake, set the child down and give him a calming draught."

"Madam, the potion interactions if …"

"Will not matter a single whit if he continues to panic so much that his magic interferes with my scan." She chastised Professor Snape as though he were a first year. "Now put him down."

To the surprise of his new Slytherin nestlings, the dour professor nodded solemnly and laid Potter out on his office couch. When he offered the child the calming draught, however, the boy turned, glaring defiantly at the Mediwitch whom he had not even been introduced to yet, as he stuggled to gasp: "Do… you – think I – hhhh – hnh … should ta-hhh-ke – it, Sir?"… making it clear that he would not take it unless Professor Snape approved..

"Can you calm down without using it?" Professor Snape asked smugly, enjoying the fact that the tiny ill-used child still had enough spark not to be cowed by the abrasive Mediwitch, and further seemed to already desire his advice. It would make the coming months and years to come far easier if he could maintain the boy's quickly given trust – which he had not expected to receive so quickly.

Not responding immediately, the child held himself perfectly still on the couch, clinching his fists as he caught his breath and held it between lips that paled at the effort. After a moment, he let it go then clutched his fists tightly again and caught a second and held it until he could let it go in a smooth exhale, and repeated it a third time. He didn't really understand why he had panicked earlier, but he knew how to deal with a state of panic; his uncle had forced him to learn that and had given him a lot of practice in doing it. After a moment, he finally opened his eyes and nodded at his professor – ignoring the Mediwitch entirely.

"Very good, Harry." Professor Snape complimented the boy – barely able to contain a surprised breath when the child's eyes grew luminescent.

"Harry?"

Madame Pomfrey looked down at the ragged child with confusion. She had read the entire list of incoming first years and knew that there was only one Harry, but this emaciated, nearly starved, scarred creature in front of her with deeply bruised eyes and nappy patches of hair that mad him look more like the hairy kin to a house elf than a human child – this boy could not be Harry Potter. She had seen Harry Potter at the welcoming feast – the first welcoming feast that she had attended since her own years as a student – for the very purpose of seeing the Boy Who Lived welcomed back into the wizarding world.

From the entrance behind the staff table, she had watched the small for his age child being sorted into Slytherin. A surprise that, but not too great of one as the child would definitely need Slytherin skills in the future. Though small, he had appeared to be relatively healthy and Madam Pomfrey was not able to be fooled by glamours. Her long experience with the stubborn Slytherin head of house had taught her how to recognize glamours – particularly when they were being used to camouflage injuries and illness as the professor often did.

"He wasn't wearing a glamour, of that I'm certain."

"No." Professor Snape agreed, wishing the woman would just get on with her task.

"I am a meti-phor-phus-magis." The child impatiently mispronounced the word, clearly sharing the desire for her to move on with as few questions as possible. Normally, he would never consider being so rude as to speak without being spoken first, but if the Professor and his house accepted him – as they seemed to do; (though why they did, Harry still wasn't certain of yet) but as long as they did, it should be good enough for the school nurse – shouldn't it. He wasn't at all comfortable with the thought of giving her any information that might hurt his chances of staying.

He didn't quite understand why the Professor wanted him to stay, but the man did seem to. Harry knew though that other people might recognize he was a freak and want send him away. He had seen it happen to another classmate at his … muggle (that was the word that Hagrid had used) at his muggle school. A girl at school, Mercury, seemed to be quite a bit like him: small, quiet, always pale, and teary. Not that Harry cried, but she was a girl, and he expected that maybe girls would cry when they knew they were freaks. Anyway, the teacher, Ms. Montague, noticed that Mercury came in with bruises that she said were from falling down stairs; neither Harry nor the teacher had believed that though, and something happened because of it that Harry was still scared by.

One day, after Mercury showed up with a bruise on her forehead and acting strangely, Ms. Montegue used the intercom to call the school nurse who came and collected Mercury. Harry didn't see his classmate again, but his cousin Dudley had explained that evening that the school nurse called the freak squad to come get the girl. Harry didn't believe his cousin until he went back to school the next day rumors were going around school about how angry the police had been when they saw Mercury and how she was taken away in the back of their car. He didn't think she had done anything wrong, but from the way his aunt and uncle yelled at him, Harry knew that being a freak was bad. He had just never realized that it was bad enough to be taken away. From then on, Harry had tried as hard as he could not to be noticed – and Ms. Montegue soon stopped paying any attention to him at all.

Caught up in his memories, Harry wasn't aware of the mediwitch finally beginning her assessment of his medical history, nor did he see the tears rolling down her face as the witch's wand exceeded its spelled memory three times, having to be discharged on the self-lengthening roll of parchment before it could continue to record his body's testimony of past physical injuries. Her hand was shaking by the time she touched the paper to the scroll a fourth time, then looked up to the Slytherin with a solemn comment, "and that's merely the physical."

Harry was drawn back to the present by Professor Snape's firm hand on his shoulder in time to hear the man compliment, "you handled that well, Harry."

"Is she finished?" Harry asked in surprise, not remembering feeling any of the things that doctors did on the tele, but thrilled that Professor Snape was again smiling slightly at him.

"Well, Madam Pomfrey is never quite finished with anyone that she takes a special interest in," the professor commented with a sheepish smile that caused Harry to chuckle without knowing why, "but once she does take a special interest in you- it's like having a hurricane on your side."

"Do you think she'll take a special interest in me?" Harry asked nervously.

"Oh, I guarantee it." The professor spared the mediwitch a thin-lipped grin – the first that she had seen him wear in years.


	4. Chapter 4

Nestmates

Rating: G

Summary: What would Harry's Slytherin Nestlings think about their new housemate?

**Nestmates**

As the Slytherins filed out, no one was really surprised that Professor Snape had asked those others to stay behind. Well, maybe they were surprised about Malfoy, whose issue had not seemed quite as bad as the others; but, more than a few had been warned by their parents to be careful around the haughty blonde because of his death eater father and the rumor quickly spread – making his inclusion suddenly more logical as it occurred to some that disappointing a self-obsessed, death eater father might have serious consequences. Only the prefects and the head boy had recognized over time that Professor Snape also took additional time with housemates who were expected to follow a little too closely in their parents often long shadows. Flint, himself, had been one of those chosen to stay behind his first year for that specific reason.

Leading the remaining first years to their dorm, the prefect adopted his most stern and imposing manner as he gestured for them to take a seat at one of the tables in the hall between their suites that acted as the first year's common room and study hall. The professor had been unusually temperate this year, and now that they had seen some of the first year's secrets – no one was going to question why. Still as a result, or more to the point, because of Potter's swoon, their housemaster had neglected to discuss certain important matters pertaining to the seven left behind.

"Sit and listen carefully. When I call your names, you'll come up and grasp this key. When you do, the door to one of these four suites will chime for you. That's where you and your team will be lodged up at for the rest of the year. The people in your suite are your team; you'll sleep, eat, walk with, and study with 'em for the next three years. Your teams will compete for inner house points, too - by studying together and making sure that all of your team mates are getting their work done for classes, by grades, prefect's reports, and other acknowledgments. Mind you, there will be other challenges too, puzzles, and scavenger hunts to sharpen your wits. The teams that are ahead each week get the choice of eating, socializing, with whatever other table and group your welcomed at – though I wouldn't bother with trying the Gryffindors; they're bloody self-righteous snobs when it comes hanging around with Slytherins. Anyway, that's only if your team is ahead of the others.

Keep thought on the fact, though, that you'll suffer with your team as well, if they fail. The house elves will keep this common hall moderately clean for you as well as the girl's facilities on the right and the boy's facilities on the left; but, your private rooms and suite are you and your teams responsibilities. You let 'em get dirty and you'll be stuck doing weekend detention with me or Grace Parkinson, the girls prefect – cleaning all of the Slytherin halls and common rooms. Get caught twice and it's the potions classrooms, too. Too, if your grades sink, or you let any of your teammates fail – you all get to take the tutoring together, instead of the things you'd want to do."

Hoping to give the housemaster time to get the fifth group sorted out and introduced to Madam Pomfrey, Flint got the other four teams of sevens sorted to their suites and released them for an hour to unpack and get settled in.

At the end of the hour, when the first years wearily returned to their hall and Professor Snape still hadn't returned, Flint decided that he really had no choice.

"Okay, you lot, sit down and listen carefully. You won't hear this bit again unless you are called to task by a council of upper years, or worse yet, if you're standing in front of Professor Snape. Course by that time, he'll be saying it to explain why your on your way out. So, listen up. That lot, the ones who stayed behind, they're a special matter – aren't they? You've got to realize that from hearing their secrets. Especially Potter's…" Flint paused for a moment, before shaking off the discomfort that Potter's pact had caused him and continued, "though this doesn't apply just to him – it goes for all of them.

You heard the kind of crap that they've been through and know they've been tested in ways that you lot haven't… _And,_ they've survived it. Cor knows how they did, but they did. Any of you that don't respect that best hope that you're not put in the same spots they were cause you don't have a clue how bad it can get. Anyway, they did it, but surviving doesn't always come that easy or leave the survivors with their lives as neat and tidy as they should or could be, so when they get here – we give 'em time and help to tidy things up. Otherwise, those cracks in their armor can become liabilities not only for them but for all of Slytherin. Because of that, they are going to get some special training to give them some of the things that most of you have probably taken for granted most of your lives.

This training can load them down, make 'em miss class, and other things, but don't dare think they aren't pulling their load. _And, _don't dare think you have a right to ridicule them for that or anything else you heard today. Inside Slytherin, things can get pretty competitive, nasty, and blood thirsty – you all 'll be tempted to have a go at each other with what you just learned, and for the most part, you're allowed to – with one exception: That lot – or more precisely – what that lot told you about their lives is absolutely off limits. Any of you who think otherwise will find yourselves in front of Professor Snape so quick you'll think they were portkeyed there, and when he hears what you did, you'll be expelled without recourse. And, I'll tell you something else, you get expelled for this and none of the other big schools will take you, and most of the small ones won't either, cause it's oath-breaking isn't it?

Now, with that said, while they're with the Professor, it's probably a good time to go into any questions that you may have about what they said or about anything else you'd like to ask."

Parkinson raised her hand nervously …

"About Potter…"

At the beginning of her question, a good number of the other hands dropped – obviously having been held up to start the same question. After all, to everyone's knowledge, the boy-who-lived was being raised in the pampered comforts of doting relatives instead of the horrible muggles they had heard about.

"What about him?" Flint asked anxiously, knowing that there were very few answers he could give on that front.

"His clothes…" She gulped in a way that made him think that she was going to ask an entirely different question, but had lost her nerve to continue in a less delicate one: "we're not going to let him go around in those, right? We can get him some others, right?"

When the boys around her rustled uncomfortably, Pansy insisted: "For the good of the house, you know, so it won't look like he's slumming with us right?"

Flint grinned slightly at her hammer handed way of handling it, but nodded: "Yes, I'm certain that Professor Snape will arrange something. Anything else?"

Tillotson raised his hand next, "Will he have to go home at hols and the like? Isn't there anything we can do about it?"

"Frankly, I don't know."

"Wasn't anyone keeping an eye on him?" Another first year asked not bothering to raise his hand.

"They were supposed to be, but it doesn't look like a good one." He answered glancing at the clock in hopes that his housemaster would soon walk in before the questions went beyond him.

"Can't the ministry do something?"

"Can't Professor Snape tell the aurors about this? It's wouldn't break the oath because you can just see by looking at him that those dirty muggles would have killed him if he were there much longer."

"It's not quite that simple." Flint tried to mitigate as the questions about Potter's situation flew faster and faster until they had completely exhausted every possible answer that the prefect could have given them.

Staring at him, irritably dissatisfied, the first years were trying to think of other questions – ones that he could answer- when the doors opened and six of the seven other first years and their head of house walked in. Flint was eager to leave the little snakes to Snape until he saw the unsettled expression on Potion Master's pallid face. Anticipating the Professor's desire to avoid a flurry of artless questions, Flint stood up quickly and ordered, "Okay, you lot. To bed, there will be a house meeting at 5:30 tomorrow, so get to sleep."

When Professor Snape didn't countermand Flint and glared at the slowest to move, the first year scattered quickly to their rooms. Flint turned to leave, pausing only a minute when he worked up the unexpected nerve to question his mentor.

"Sir, he won't be going back there, will he?"

Caught in a moment of unexpected weariness, Professor Snape answered honestly, "The Headmaster wishes for him to, due to protective family wards" and paused to acknowledge the ironic arch of Flint's brow as he continued, "but, I intend to be certain that the muggle scum who hurt the child, will not even consider laying a finger on him while he is in their custody."

Nodding at the Professor's slip in discretion, Flint quickly left the first year hall as Professor Snape went to settle the fifth team, but instead of heading to bed, he slipped into the seventh year's common room, where there was a meeting well in progress.

"Did you hear?" Flint asked hurriedly as he took a seat.

"Yeah, It changes things a bit. Blast that barmy old man for even thinking of sending Potter back there. In any event, okay we can't kill those rotten old berks and we have to be careful about getting caught, but …."

Just outside the door, Professor Snape smirked as he listened to his little snakes plot, and revised the schedule of potions that he was going to instruct in his (thankfully all Slytherin ) Newts potions class. The emetics – used in the infirmary to cause projectile vomiting after poisoning – and the diuretics - used at St. Mungo's to insure that patients don't go into renal failure –( as well as the diarrheatics- used to purge patients intestines before more complex spells) usually weren't demonstrated until close to the end of the year so that Severus would not have to deal with the disgustingly pungent pranks that resulted from them. But, under the circumstances, he could easily shift his schedule to present them in the weeks before Christmas. There were a handful of others that he could also hint at for his more enterprising snakes to experiment with, but they would have to be veiled references during his private tutoring sessions -- as Dumbledore certainly would not approve.


	5. Chapter 5

Settling into Slytherin

Rating: G

Summary: Helping Harry to Settle in.

**Settling into Slytherin**

Noticing her suitemate's difficulty, Millicent marched over, impatiently slapped his fluttering hands out of the way and quickly sorted his tie out for him.

"Boomslang," she muttered softly, half under her breath. "Calm down. There's nothing to be worried about."

"Why can't it be Potions, Daboia?" Harry asked also using her Slytherin chosen name as he proceeded to pull at his collar, trying to loosen it so he could breathe better.

"Stop that!" His hands were smacked away again, and his collar re-straightened. "It's not Potions, so you just have to roll with it."

"Couldn't I?" He almost begged for a reprieve.

"No! Flying's first up. No choice about it." Feeling uncomfortably inadequate to lighten the fear glowing in his Slytherin green eyes, Millicent threw up her hands, stalked to the entrance of their suite, and slammed the door open – immediately drawing everyone's attention to her.

"Dray, get over here, will you, and sort Potter out."

Sighing as he folded his hand and tucked it back into the exploding snap package with a rueful grin, Draco gestured to his suitemate that he would be right there. He had suspected that it would come to this, but had hoped that Millicent could learn to deal with their suitemate. To his surprise, it hadn't been Harry that was the problem either. If anything, Harry did everything he could to make certain that he didn't let their team down or disappoint Professor Snape.

The problem lay with Millicent, who had realized, at some point during the weeks that Harry had been confined to the infirmary, that Harry might be her way out of the marriage contract that her parents had forced on her. If she could convince them that she had a reasonable chance of catching him, they were very likely to back out of the arrangement in favor of Potter's potential prestige and social cache - if he should decide to take up the unclaimed role as head of the ancient and noble house of Potter.

With her being one of his suitemates, it was a reasonable assumption, but her reaction to that had been to immediately start trying to mold Harry into the perfect pureblood heir. And, little Harry was so willing – no not willing … desperate… Harry was so desperate to be what everyone thought he should be that he happily complied, studying whatever materials she brought for hours on end even after being tutored by Professor Snape in the courses that he was missing out on, and spending the whatever time was left catching up on the assigned homework. No matter how hard Harry tried, Millicent refused to be satisfied, and nothing that Draco or their other suitemates said seemed to get through to her. He was seriously beginning to believe that they were going to need to take the matter to Professor Snape.

"Hey Boom, what's up." he asked softly as soon as he stepped into their private rooms.

"Naja… is-isn't there some way, any way at all, that I could skiv out of first hour today?" Harry almost pleaded – guiltily ignoring Millicent's glare.

"Don't be a hufflepuff, Boomslang." She snarled fiercely before Draco interrupted.

"Daboia, enough. Go make sure our bags are all ready."

"Naja…"

"No, either see to the bags or go get breakfast, either way leave us alone."

"Fine, fine. But, you get him sorted, you understand."

That was it - he decided - he was going to Professor Snape the first chance he got.

Glaring after her until the door shut and they had privacy again, Draco finally turned to see Harry miserably pulling the shoulder strap of his book bag over his shoulder.

"It's okay, Naja, I'll go. I don't want to cause any trouble, and we've kept up so far – even with me being in the infirmary."

"Boom, put your bag down."

"I said it's okay." His suitemate sighed despondently – very much not okay.

"Boom, put your stuff down and let's talk."

Harry shrugged, slipped his bag back into the cubby that he'd requested for his book shelf, and turned to their study table.

"Don't you ever get tired of sitting there?" Draco asked half curiously, half hopefully. Professor Snape hadn't needed to tell him that Harry needed to be encouraged to make some of his own choices and learn to relax from his rigid obedience to any and all rules that he came across.

"It's okay," Harry answered with little enthusiasm. "Where would you like?"

"How about my bed?"

"I couldn't…could I?"

"Why not?"

"It's made already and you put so much attention in to making it perfectly."

"And can do so again, sit."

Harry cocked his head at an odd angle as he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Boom, do I ever offer anything that I'm not sure about?"

"Oh, okay." Harry gingerly sat, folding his hands in his lap as Millicent had said was more dignified than allowing them to 'loll about'.

Draco's sudden whoop and bounce on the bed came as a complete surprise and caused Harry to giggle in nervously before he clamped his hands over his mouth.

Ignoring the disconcerting look of shame that quickly followed, Draco dropped back and threw his arms out as if he'd never laid on a bed before.

"Okay, now that Daboia's gone to scowl at the rest of us, tell me what's going on. Why don't you want to go to go flying? I would have thought you'd have been looking forward to it."

"What if I can't do it?"

"Do you know for certain that you can't?"

"No, but what if…"

"Well, you tell me, what do you think will happen if you can't?"

"I don't know."

"Boomslang... talk to me." Draco insisted.

"Well, witches are supposed to fly, aren't they? Even muggles know that. A broom's even part of their Halloween costumes. If I can't fly, will the Headmaster let me stay?"

"Boom, No!" Draco hushed him but suddenly realized what his mate thought as the tiny boy's shoulder slumped and rushed to correct his response: "Wait... That's not how I meant it. I meant: 'No, you have the wrong idea'. You can't rely on muggles about anything having to do with witches and wizards. Sure a lot of witches and wizards do fly on brooms, but not all of them by any means. If they did, we wouldn't need port keys, floos, and the knight bus would we? But it's would seem a little odd to carry a mini-knight bus with you as part of a costume, wouldn't it?"

"So, if I can't fly, it's alright?"

"Sure, but there's no reason to think you can't. Heck even Crabbe can fly. Besides, you're dad was a pretty decent flyer, judging by an award I saw when I had detention with that creepy berk and his cat."

"Really, you think so?"

"Sure, and anyway, if you can't you just learn to make sure that you always have one of the other ways to get around, like using floos, port keys and apparition."

"Are there any other's that can't fly? In our year?"

"Sure there are, Granger for one. Her broom won't even twitch an inch."

"The one you call a hyped up know it all?"

"That's her."

"Okay, I guess that makes me feel better then." Harry's color had evened up slightly and he looked almost normal despite his still pallid complexion from being in the mediwitch's care for so long. Nodding his thanks, and starting to rise, Harry was surprised when Draco suddenly spelled his shoes off and pulled him back on the bed.

"Naja?!?"

"As long as I have to remake it anyway…" Draco explained enigmatically as he pulled Harry to his feet – on the bed – and suddenly… jumped! When he landed, the impact of his greater body weight tossed a very shocked Harry almost a fair foot or two in the air.

"Come on Boom, live up to your namesake." Draco urged, jumping again.

"What?" Harry gasped as he landed a second time.

"Boomslangs are arboreal snakes; they are supposed to be in the air."

"I thought you picked out that name because my eyes are green like boomslangs and they are used in that potion that helps people do what I can do naturally."

"I did. Daboia wanted to name you for a tiny viper called a bitus, but it was grey and scaly and just didn't fit. Boomslang was my idea."

"Oh, thanks. What did the others want to call me?"

"Ehh, just don't let them name your first born, okay? Goyle's was the worst. He wanted to name you little hissy."

"He didn't!" Harry erupted completely scandalized as Draco broke out laughing and jumped yet again. When Harry realized he was being teased, he decided it was his turn to do some jumping and before he realized what was happening both he and Draco were bouncing around the soft packed bed as if it were a trampoline – totally unaware that Professor Snape and two prefects were standing just inside the doorway trying to stifle their amusement. Unfortunately, Millicent chose that moment to return, shouting loudly, "Harry, Draco, by the seven wands of Merlin, what do you think you are doing?"

Startled by her shriek, Harry tripped over Draco's feet as his suitemate came to an abrupt stop. An unfortunate pitch had him tumbling - head first towards the cold stone floor just as Professor Snape scowled at the girl who had pushed in beside him. His scowl only deepened as he was completely pushed out of the way by Lukins and Nearguard pushed by him to dive for Harry before he landed. Of the suite mates, only Dolohov had retained the presence of mind to cast a leviosa spell on Harry while Prefect Flint cast a cushioning charm and Prefect Parkinson summoned pillows from the bed.

By the time that Goyle stumbled in trying to illicitly sneak in breakfasts for Harry and Draco, Harry had scrambled to his feet and Draco had jumped down beside him. Both were staring at their stockinged feet and studiously avoiding the eyes of their suitemates after remembering that their rooms were to be inspected today.

Prefect Parkinson clucked her tongue as she inspected the room finding very few problems until she reached the bed.

"Unmade bed, five point demerit. Cast off shoes, two point demerit." She announced before handing her tablet to Flint. A quick scan produced no other demerits until he heard the plates clink as Goyle tried to push balance them together behind his back.

"Food in the common rooms, five point demerit. Professor, do you have anything to add.

"Quite." The Professor answered sternly as he stepped forward to stand between the two boys, "However, before I say anything else, would either of you like to explain yourselves?"

Both Draco and Harry were silent for several seconds causing Severus to sigh before he turned to walk back to the door way. He hadn't moved three inches though before he felt his cloak caught by a small hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Please Sir, don't take points from the whole group. Isn't there anyway that you could take them away from just me, because Draco was only trying to cheer me up after I told him that I was worried about flying lessons today and didn't want to go before he explained to me that some of the muggle ideas I've been raised with are wrong."

"Very well. I'll take that into consideration. Flint calculate this for me. First, with respect to Harry Potter, for completing one of the goals on his monthly goals list by participating in an activity that was not related in anyway to chores, studying, or satisfying another's whims fifteen points to his favor. Further for acknowledging his anxiety regarding an activity and reconsidered the his participation in light of that activity- also a monthly goal: fifteen points. With regard to Draco Malfoy, for providing adequate support and information to his teammate: twenty points. Total and placement, if you would Mr. Flint?

"Sir, their total is thirty eight points to the positive, bringing them into first place in their year and fourth overall."

"Very well, keep up the progress you Seven and get to the pitch, Madam Hooch is notoriously impatient to get in the air.

"Yes, Sir." Everyone rushed toward the door, but Harry who felt as though he still owed his head of house an apology and a thank you for mitigating the points. Before he could speak, though, Professor Snape's hand closed on the shoulder.

"Very well done, Harry. Very well done. Now off with you." He cast an amused smile around the room before pushing Harry out the door ahead of him. "We can take lunch in my offices if you still feel such an urgent need to confess whatever activity might have led up to this morning's display"

For the entymology of the Slytherin Seven's Nick Names - (you'll need to remove the spaces and replace the word 'nickname'):

Go to en. wikipedia. com / wiki / nickname

Boomslang, Daboia, Naja, Enhydrisgyii, Acanthophis, and Gloydiusblomhoffii for (Gloydius and Blom)


	6. Chapter 6

Food for Thought.

Rating: PG

Summary: Harry's return to the great hall reveals something unexpected.

**Food for Thought**

Draco grimaced as he saw the clutch of first years waiting for his group at the Slytherin entrance and he realized what their burst of points really meant. His group had to go first. More than that, as the highest point scorers of their team, he and Harry had to go first. Normally, it would have been a matter of pride, but Draco knew that it would practically be torture for his friend. Despite his friend's fame, Harry hated being watched, and this was going to put him right at the front of the lines of Slytherin walking to the great Hall – right after a very noticeable month and a half long absence.

He could already hear his friend's breathing rate pick up with anxiety and glanced to their head of house hopefully.

Catching his godson's significant glance at Harry, Severus could have cursed himself for his indulgently added points. If he had realized beforehand how close they were to the lead, he would have withheld Draco's points – even though he wanted to encourage more shows of humanity from the young Malfoy heir, but there was no recompense for it now. As much as he wanted to drag Harry's group to the anonymous safety of being in the middle, it really wouldn't help. Anyone in the Great Hall, who was paying the slightest bit of attention, would recognize that Potter had 'returned' to his house and most would likely put on idiotic displays of immaturity – pointing and whispering and generally making the boy too nervous to even consider eating. And he was helpless to prevent it.

If he pulled the group back after they had been announced to lead the first years, it would have been too obvious why and Severus had been striving to balance his attentions to Harry so that his seeming favoritism would not make more enemies for Harry in his own house than there were likely to be in the children of loyal death eaters. Nodding that he understood the issue, Severus did the only thing he could think of and stepped in front of Harry after glancing back to be certain that all years had taken positions then pushed through.

As they walked through the dungeon's, Draco practically grinned. By walking behind Professor Snape and trying his keep up with his pace, Harry was being both distracted and obscured by the Professor's snapping and billowing robes.

"Naja, how does he get them to do that?" Harry's tiny voice floated up to Severus's ears and almost caused him to lose his glare in an amused smirk.

"Shhh." His godson answered quickly, catching the quirk of his godfather's lips from the side and recognizing that Severus's attempt to distract the hall would not be half as effective if he was smiling. If anything it would draw more attention. What they needed was for him to glare like he did at the stupid gryfs. As he thought about it, a solution and another problem came to mind at once.

"Professor, will Harry have to partner with Longbottom today?"

The question worked fabulously- bringing an angry glare to Professor Snape's scowl as the man cursed himself again for not forseeing this difficulty when he had partnered Crabbe with the Granger chit. At the time, it had been necessary. Crabbe was almost hopeless in potions and was only making strides due to the girl's seemingly unending thirst to teach someone something she understood. Additionally, Longbottom – while he seemed to understand the materials – judging by his essays, was a walking time bomb when put in front of a cauldron. But yet again, it was something that he couldn't change without showing obvious favoritism.

"For the time being" he acknowledged his godson's speculation while gesturing subtly for the lines to split with Harry closely following him on the outside of the row, furthest from the other tables, and Draco's line taking the inside of the row – leading up to the head of the row and gestured for the others in his group to stand close so no one would notice as Harry slipped into his spot. The child was quickly seated with only a minimum of notice (the Headmaster's of course), and Severus swept across the front of the drawing as many eyes as he could by his sharp glare at the other tables.

The Professor watched the child nervously pick at his food until his suitemate's encouragements calmed him enough to eat almost half of a first year's normal potion – more than enough, in Severus's opinion, given the fact that it had taken almost the full month in the infirmary to accustom the child's system first to eating on a daily basis and then to eating more than one meal a day of any portion much less the quarter portion and nutrient potions that Madam Pomfrey currently hoped the child could manage. Waiting until Harry looked to him for approval, as the child always seemed to do, when he caught the boy's eyes, Severus subtly inclined his head and cast a significant glance to the point counters. As soon as he verified that Harry's gaze had followed his own, Severus quietly murmured "five points to Slytherin" and watched with amusement as the child's eyes widened – watching five green jewels trickling into the collection of Slytherin points. After a moment, Harry glanced back with the slight smile that Ms. Bullstrode had been coaching the child on – even in the infirmary – after it had become obvious to all that the child seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Just as he was set on returning his attention to his own meal, Severus noted Harry's eyes sharpen with an idea as he stared pointedly at Severus – waiting for his Professor to feel his stare. The professor intentionally held a pretence of ignoring the boy's stare – curious what the child's response would be- and turned back in amusement when he somehow felt the child's gaze intensify, as if Harry were thinking 'look at me' over and over. The child's relief at being studied turned quickly to knowing amusement as if he suspected that his professor was playing a game with him then to a clear question as he turned from his mentor's attention to glance significantly at Dolohov's plate.

The little Slytherin!

'Yes,' Severus nodded after a moment's thought, 'yes' if Dolohov managed to eat the quarter portion that he was currently mincing into an unpalatable mess that not even a house elf could find appealing, then 'yes' Severus would add further points.

Eyeing Dolohov stuffing the disconcerting mash into his mouth in a quick attempt to earn points, Severus struggled to suppress a smirk as he turned back to nod at Harry. The morning's humor died abruptly as his watched his godson jump from his seat and fold himself in half over the big table trying to reach something on the far side. At an angle across from him, Miss Bullstrode was staring down at something beside her in dismay as she pulled her hands up from behind the edge of the table. As her hands rose into sight, Severus realized that they were gripped around a very familiar spindly wrist so tightly that, even from the head table, he could see the white rings of pressure left by her fingers. Glancing back to Draco, he saw a matching spindly hand begin to show from behind his godson's tipped head as Draco and Millicent pulled their suitemate back onto the bench and leaned him forward over the table that the others had rapidly cleared. Severus was already standing when Draco looked over his shoulder, staring urgently at his godfather with a panicked gaze.

Potter seemed entirely unaware of Draco's hand shaking his shoulder as he clawed at his scar. Beside the boy, young Miss Bulstrode was hissing for Draco to return to his seat despite the fact that she was still holding Potter's hand in a near death grip. On her other side Lukins glanced up quickly – seeming to recognize Severus's hesitation to be seen worriedly rushing toward their table – in public no less and calmly stood. By the time he approached the table, the boy had settled a firm jawed mask of arrogant determination on his face that was echoed in his almost insolent tone as he drawled, "Professor Snape! My group is debating several matters. Could you come and tell them I'm right?"

Ignoring Professor McGonagall's smirk and the open chuckles coming from the Professor Sinistra and the Headmaster, Severus sighed as though he were being put upon and made a mental note to add points at the earliest opportunity for Lukin's intervention and acting. For effect, he scraped his fork around his plate – seeming to search for any last morsel to stall his departure – then answered with false irritability, "as it appears that I have finished my repast, I see no reason not to intervene before your supposed debate devolves to such cogent statements as "am not" and "am too". I'll be there momentarily."

Gesturing for the boy to return to his table, Severus paused by the headmaster's chair to complain weakly, "I suspect I will be craving intelligent conversation very shortly. You'll be in your office later?" – causing the rest of the staff to break into hearty chuckles if not outright laughter at his seeming stall as the headmaster tutted "Yes, yes," and gestured him on to his Slytherins.

Stalking up to stand behind Lukins and Malfoy, Severus leaned slightly into the table and whispered quickly, "Mr. Potter, do you need to be escorted to the infirmary?"

Severus was startled to see a glaze of blood smeared across Harry's forehead and coating his small fingers as they clawed almost frantically at his scar. Despite the obvious pain implied by his actions and his weaving form, the child had yet to make a sound and Severus was almost certain that his return to the table was the only thing causing any curiosity. As he spoke, the child gasped softly and shook his head.

"Nooo." he breathed out on a shuddering breath and slowly eased his clawed fist open.

"No… I-I think I'm okay."

The child's accompanying shudders made his response far from convincing, but Severus chose not to refute the child's notable attempt to maintain a strong façade. It was an attitude and skill that all of his Slytherins had needed to develop over their years, and of them – Harry more than most. With that in mind, he quickly used wandless and soundless magic to cast disillusionment, silencing, and levitation charms on the boy making him invisible and mute to anyone else who might have been watching as the professor gestured for them to stand and depart.

They were barely out of the hall when he heard the child's breathing steady and Potter's tiny invisible hand reach out to clutch his robe.

"I think I'm okay now."

"I believe you said that a minute ago." Severus murmured softly, but nevertheless gently ended the levitation spell and lowered Harry to the ground while he asked, "Would you care to explain what is causing your team such concern?"

Harry caught a painful breath that was almost a sob, swallowed tightly, and nodded as he looked up into his professor's gaze. Taking heart at the staunch encouragement his professor's study, Harry nodded again and, still clutching Severus's robes, walked back to the Great Hall's entrance, confident that the disillusionment charms would keep him from being seen as he scanned the crowd of students and staff.

Catching sight of whatever he had been searching for, he reached up for Severus's hand without looking, but knowing nonetheless that it would be where he expected and used his grasp to pull Severus down to him as he explained softly:

"When you were watching Risgyii, I felt like I was feeling someone stare at me the way Mr. Dursley does."

Severus glanced down from his study of the hall's occupants to smile at the use of muggle's surname. Harry was showing surprising progress in distancing himself from his family's seeming authority – twice in two days calling them by their formal names instead of their familial titles.

"How is that?" He could only hazard a guess at how the boy's uncle had looked him but if it was in either of the manners that immediately came to mind, Severus could think of several nasty spells that would insure that the man would never look at anything again - the least painful of which was a retina eating hex.

"Like he was doing things to hurt me just behind his eyes."

Severus stared down at his charge in absolute shock – hardly giving credence to the stunning thought that had just occurred to him. It was highly unlikely, but then what wasn't with this amazing child.

"Harry…I think I understand, but could you explain that statement?"

"Uhhh…" Harry sighed softly, and looked up at Severus with nervous eyes, giving the professor the impression that the child felt was trying to work up the nerve to confess something, which given the confession already made – could only be something remarkable. Perhaps something even as remarkable as Severus's suspicions… but after a second glance it seemed the thought had put that whit-too much-attention on Harry and the boy's expression closed up into a guilty, but uncertain frown as he shook his head.

"Very well. On with your report." Severus answered quickly, knowing that Harry had already extended him more trust than he should have reasonably expected… on very little grounds to boot…

"Okay," the child sighed with relief, "when I looked up to see who it was, Ron was standing up staring at me, and talking to that man in the funny looking cloth hat like the sheik in Aladdin. Then everything started to hurt, but my scar…"

"Ron?"

"Weasley!" Draco hissed with a significant glance at his mentor. "I told you he would do it. I told you!"

"What? Ron didn't hex me. He wouldn't…"

"How would you know?" Draco's jealous voice cracked, almost reaching the hall, and stirring Harry's irritation at his suitemate over his memory of how Draco had acted on the train.

"I slipped in! That's how. I slipped in and he's mad, sure, but he doesn't want to hurt me." Harry confessed without realizing, in his pique at Draco, that he had confirmed his professor's suspicion until he caught the sharp calculating look in his professor's gaze and winced as his professor whispered: '_legillimens'._

Inside the Great Hall, everyone stilled as they heard a sound that no one was familiar with- Professor Snape's hearty baritone laughter. At the staff table most of the Professor's shared bemused glances then turned back to their meals, but there were two sets of eyes that were decidedly not lit with amusement: the headmaster's, which stared at his latest hire with concern, and the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, whose eyes almost seemed to glow red with rage.


	7. Chapter 7

Beneath Still Waters

Rating: PG

Summary: Outside the Great Hall, Severus and Draco learn a bit more about their charge.

"_Weasley!" Draco hissed with a significant glance at his mentor._

"_I told you he would do it. I told you!"_

"_What? Ron didn't hex me. He wouldn't…"_

"_How would you know?" Draco's jealous voice cracked, almost_

_reaching the hall, and stirring Harry's irritation at his_

_suitemate over his memory of how Draco had acted on the train._

"_I slipped in! That's how. I slipped in and he's mad, sure,_

_but he doesn't want to hurt me." Harry confessed without_

_realizing, in his pique at Draco, that he had confirmed his_

_professor's suspicion until he caught the sharp calculating_

_look in his professor's gaze and winced as _

_his professor whispered: 'legillimens'._

**Beneath Still Waters**

Severus did his best to ease into the child's mind, admiring as he did the child's natural occlumancy shields and well defined mental declensions. Whether it was due to the years of abuse or his natural make up – the child's mind appeared to be well structured and compartmentalized. It reflected a mental preparation that Severus had taken years to set up in his godson's mind, and the fact that Harry, for whatever reason, was so far along would mean that he could begin occlumancy lessons at the exact same point for both boys and allow them to develop and work on their shields together – a factor that was known to be far more favorable than the often overpowering influence of a trained occlumancer/legillimancer. Given their growing friendship, such a bond could only help Draco escape his father's path while giving the fragile child a more self-oriented perspective of what his life should be like.

'_Harry_' he called in the equivalent soft mental whisper and smiled softly at the child's quick response.

'_Sir?' _The child's questioning recognition was accompanied by a surprising stiffness in the child's form that worried Severus.

'_Child, are you well?'_

'_You can slip, too?'_

'_Yes, I can also 'slip' into others' minds.'_

'_But, you're not evil!'_ The child protested mentally and vocally with a certainty that Severus found both touching for the child's faith and enraging for the obvious belief ingrained into the child that he was evil because he possessed a rare and delicate ability.

'_No, Child,'_ he answered then gently withdrew from Harry's mind before continuing in a soft tone so that his godson and their suitemates could hear the remainder of his answer. "Occlumancy and legillimency are delicate and difficult arts that take a great deal of training to wield correctly, not a signs of darkness."

"But, Uncle Vernon said…" Harry trailed off wincing as he realized that he had once again slipped back into the use of his uncle's familial title when referring to a matter of his abuse ingrained authority (as Professor Snape described it).

"Child, what have I stated repeatedly about Mr. Dursley as an arbiter of wizarding knowledge?"

"The man…" Harry responded with a sneering tone so like Severus's that Draco's eyes widened as his friend continued, "has so little knowledge and understanding of the wizarding world that the wizengamot would have little difficulty sentencing him to a lifetime stint in a remedial facility for mentally challenged quibs."

Hearing his criticism so perfectly parroted back to him drew a full roll of vibrant, baritone laughter from Severus and caused Draco to grin wryly at his godfather before darting his eyes to the Great Hall's entry in alarm.

"Uncle Sev! They'll hear you laughing," Draco warned sharply causing Severus to quickly regain his composure with a grim nod.

"I'm sorry, Sir." Harry blurted – his eyes solidly anchored to the floor.

"For what are you apologizing, this time?"

"Making you laugh, Sir. I make everyone laugh at me."

Severus was glad, for once, that the child's eyes were glued to the floor, for he was almost certain that the child would have flinched at the stark anger crossing his and Draco's faces.

"Harry, Child, my anger was neither derogatory, nor directed at you but at the fact that for the first time in over a decade, I have a student who actually pays enough attention to my statement that he can accurately repeat them, verbatim to tone and intonation, even weeks later."

"Hey!" Draco protested, "I always listen."

"Yes, Draco, I know; however, I would have thought that you would realize that I hardly consider you a student first… but instead as family first."

"Of course, I knew that. I just wanted to remind you that I do listen, too." Draco retorted but clearly seemed mollified.

"Now, Harry, how are you feeling? It goes without saying that I expect an accurate report. Flying can be dangerous –particularly the first time you are on a broom. If you are in any doubt about your physical state, It should be divulged immediately."

To Harry's credit, he paused thinking about the question carefully, but giving Severus a response without realizing that he was doing so. During his weeks tutoring the child in the hospital wing, Severus had observed and catalogued over two dozen tells and was hard pressed not to sigh as he watched the child.

Harry's delicate hands flickered and fluttered over his robes straightening their folds and cuffs with quick care. The child's pale countenance warmed to an almost healthy peach tinged skin tone with a silent breath of the child's wish magic. His posture straightened and his eyes sharpened in focus so that he would appear to be the eager but sober, model student that he and his housemates were being taught to project.

To anyone, unfamiliar with Harry, the child's appearance would have been flawless, but Severus saw the reddening vessels in Harry's eyes that spoke of still intense, but slowly receding pain. His quick, impersonal scan of the child's face caught the faint bite marks on the child's lips where he had bitten to keep from crying out. The child's chest heaved like a sparrow's caught under a cat's keen eye.

Given the choice, Severus would not have allowed the child's release from the medical wing, much less his return to classes, but the headmaster and mediwitch had prevailed upon him to let the child return to even a half-schedule of his classes. Their arguments, while sound, had not won him over so much as Harry – sitting up, dwarfed by the youth bed and pale by the glaring white infirmary linens – doing just as he was now: attempting to convince Severus that he was in a better condition than he actually was.

And, just as Severus had then, he waited until Harry took the extra step of making his wishes known. In the potion master's opinion, the child's most basic wishes had been ignored and overridden for so long that he was virtually owed a choice in almost every matter that he had the ability to understand. To that end, Severus had not intention of riding rough shod over a single of the boy's choices without compelling or life threatening justifications.

"Professor, I'm not feeling all that great," the child began, not even attempting to lie as they had quickly learned that he had pitifully little talent in the skill – particularly when it came to attempting to fool the potions master.

"But…it really is getting better, and I think that I can try Madam Hooch's class and Draco will be there."

Severus pressed a rather obvious, if tight, smile on his lips and studied the boy who seemed to bloom under it as he nodded encouragingly. He would not coddle the child when and where it was not needed or wanted, but he would certainly be there to insure that the child's wellbeing was guarded, even if the boy would have no knowledge of it.

"Very well, Harry, but you are to take lunch in my offices today so that I may assess your status."

"Yes, Sir." Harry's tiny pearl-like teeth worried his lips to a bruised mauve before he finally worked up the nerve to blurt out: "Sir, may Draco come, too?"

"Do you feel comfortable discussing your matters with him?" Severus asked cautiously suspecting the child was still trying to appease his godson for any time that they spent away from Draco.

"Yes, Sir." Harry answered with far more confidence than Severus had heard from him, "Naja's the best friend I've ever had."


	8. Chapter 8

A Lion's Prideful Ways

Rating: PG

Summary: Lions and Slytherins mix and mingle.

**A Lion's Prideful Ways**

"Well if it isn't the pampered prince himself." A sneering tone drew Harry's attention as Ron Weasley broke from the clusters of Gryffindor first years waiting for their flying practice as the lines of Slytherin first years approached lead by Harry and Draco.

"Hey Potter, glad to see you finally show for class. How many points did Snape have to give you to finally get you up off your lazy arse?" Weasley jeered.

"None, Ron." Harrry answered with a troubled sigh as he gestured for his suitemates to stay out of it when he heard their affronted grumbles, knowing Professor Snape wouldn't be happy with them if they got into a fight. "That's not how Professor Snape awards points."

"Oh, that's right, Snape's a real git with the points. We have to get our potions perfect, or he doesn't even notice, and the questions he asks cant bloody well even be from the same book because only Goody two shoes Granger can answer them, but you – you just slurp up a bit of cereal and the bloody git practically showers you with points."

Paling as Weasley's comment drew glares from a number of Gryffindors, Harry stared at the angry redhead in bewilderment.

"Ron, why are you acting like this? I thought you wanted to be my friend." He immediately regretted the question though as he watched Draco stiffen out of the corner of his eye and heard his suitemate's grumblings. He must have sounded so pathetic. He was already letting everyone down on his first day of classes. If it Millicent hadn't repeatedly scolded him for looking weak by staring at the ground, Harry would have locked his eyes on his feet to avoid Weasley's.

Flushing at Harry's comment, Ron growled, "I did before you decided you wanted to be a slimy snake in the grass."

Harry could almost feel the entire line of Slytherins behind him stiffen angrily at his comment and knew that he had to do something, but he had no idea what to do. Both Draco and Millicent had told him that objecting to name calling only let an opponent know that the names were hitting their targets, but he couldn't think of any other response. He had chosen the Slytherin house and didn't understand why it was supposed to be the wrong choice. Everyone in the house had been so nice to him and had really helped him.

Before he could figure out a response, a plump Gryffindor with ebony hair and flashing brown eyes came up and caught Weasley's arm and chastised, "Ron, stop. You know the sorting hat put him in the Slytherin house for its own reasons."

"No, it didn't. He asked for it. The hat said so." Weasley retorted sharply, glaring at Harry as he continued, "I asked the sorting hat why he was put in the same house as a bunch of death eater's kids. You know what it said? He chose it. He wanted to go there. He wanted to go into the same house as the bastard that killed his own parents. How sick is that?"

Behind him, Harry heard curious murmurs as his year mates heard that he had chose their house, but the murmurs quickly turned to angry growls as the Gryffindor continued.

"So?" asked the pudgy Gryffindor that Harry remembered being introduced to on the train, ""What if he did? He probably had a good reason to, and I'm sure that the hat wouldn't have put him in his house if he wouldn't do well there."

"You're blinking mad if you think any good will come of him being a snake." Weasley's face grew red faced as he practically yelled at his housemate.

"Looks to me like goods already come of it; he's a lot less tense than he was on the train, and if his professor gives him points for eating – all the better. He could use a bit more substance to him by the looks of it."

Harry was torn between being embarrassed that the Gryffindor, Longbottom – if Harry remembered correctly, felt he had to stand up against a housemate for Harry and relief that Longbottom had – because he would have probably messed it up. His relief immediately evaporated, though, as he glanced sideways to Draco and realized that his friend was adamantly avoiding his eyes with an angry expression.

"Naja?" he whispered urgently.

"Not now." Draco answered icily and pushed by Ron as Madame Hooch approached. It took a push from Millicent to get him walking beside Draco in shock and shame when he realized that he had already messed things up. He should have stood up for his house and told everyone that he was glad to be there instead of waiting for a Gryffindor to do it for him. By not doing so, it must have seemed like he agreed with Weasley's comments.

He hadn't realized that tears must have come to his eyes until Draco hissed, "Blink your eyes and, for Merlin's sake, don't sniffle. Here she is."

"Ah, Mr. Potter, how good of you to join us." Madame Hooch greeted Harry bluntly and glanced about oddly as several of the Gryffindors broke out laughing.

Worried by Draco's brush off and still angry expression, Harry chewed his lip nervously hoping that he wouldn't embarrass his house further with a poor performance when he got on the broom. As if she read the anxiety plainly on his face, which she probably did because Harry still hadn't managed the untouchable expression they were supposed to be able to put on at a moments notice, the flying instructor shooed him out of the way like a kindergartener and explained, "Well, Harry, let me get this lot up and running their drills, then I'll be back to tell you how to call your broom up."

"I can, Madame Hooch." Longbottom offered before any of Harry's suitemates could, and Madame Hooch nodded quickly, clearly pleased not to have to deal with Longbottom in the air.

"Thank you, Neville. Just remember the extra sessions that we had if there's any difficulty."

As his housemates passed, Harry tried to meet their eyes hoping to see how many of them might be mad at him, but none would look his way. Instead, their eyes were focused on the intricate obstacle course that the professor was explaining as they walked away.

"Hey," a gentle hand on his shoulder drew Harry's attention back to the present. "Don't worry about your mates. They'll get over it quick enough when they realize you weren't doing anything wrong. Now, Gran says you were raised by muggles. Have you ever been on a broom before?"

Harry shook his head and studied the brooms that Longbottom was laying out parallel to them.

"Okay then, we'll start from the very beginning. It can be pretty spooky to be on a broom the first time, but our first year brooms are spelled to help us stay on and to read our skill so it keeps us at a safe distance from the ground. The first time I went up, though, I had a bit of a wonky broom and ended up falling off and hurting my wrist but Madam Pomfrey fixed it all up. I think you were asleep when they brought me into the infirmary."

Harry's head shot up at Longbottom comment. He hadn't been wearing his glamours in the infirmary, so the Gryffindor had to know. When their eyes met, the increasing anxiety tightening his chest eased at the glimmer of acceptance and concern in the boy's gaze. Something in the expression made Harry think that Longbottom wouldn't tell. That was one blessing at least.

"Uhhh…" he paused, not quite knowing what to say.

"Sorry, I forgot, we really didn't have a proper meet and greet on the train did we? My name is Neville Franklin Longbottom. Technically, I am the Head of the Ancient and Noble Longbottom House, or at least I will be when I reach my majority, but in reality my gran runs things, and I really don't think I'll want to take over things any faster than necessary. She has this way of getting people to do what she wants that I just don't have, and besides I'd like a few years after school to do some things that I'd like to do before I have to take on the headaches."

"Hi. Neville, or is it Franklin? Millicent told me that there is some tradition about the names of head of house holds, but I can't seem to remember it right now. Anyway, hi." Harry answered shyly extending his hand before he remembered how he was supposed to answer, "I mean, hello, my name is Harry James Potter. I will be the Head of Household for the Ancient House of Potter. I can't remember whether Millicent said whether its an Ancient and Noble or just and Ancient house. But, I guess I'll have to take it over when I'm old enough because the goblins at Gringotts are overseeing it for now."

"I suppose you'll have to then. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance by the way and it's Neville. Oh, yes. The tradition isn't that big of a deal, at least not to me. Heirs and Potential Heads of House can't change their names or use nicknames publicly. And your house is definitely both: Ancient and Noble that is. I've a book on family histories of the Ancient and Noble houses that you could read later if you like."

"Thank you, Neville, I would."

"Great, I'll bring it to potions, you can get it back to me whenever you feel like. Oh, by the way, thank Draco for me."

"Okay, I will. Could I ask why?"

"Sure, I doubt he'd keep it a secret from you if you asked him anyway. Gran gave me this rememberall ball that was driving me spare. It fogged up when I forgot something but never told me what I'd forgotten. Anyway, I was whinging about it in the library first week and he told me he'd help me take care of it, and he did."

"Really?" Harry asked curiously, wondering why Draco hadn't said anything to him about it.

"Yep."

"What did he do?"

"Ask him about it, he can give you the full story, but we should really start practicing now. Hooch will be back in a few seconds."

Realizing that Neville had been distracting him until his uneasiness had died down some, Harry flashed a weak smile at the Gryffindor and nodded.

"Good, now hold out your hand like this and …" Neville went on to explain the process then stepped back and let Harry try.

"Up!" the small boy called hopefully then flushed when the broom barely rolled.

"Up!" The half rolled to the side.

"Up!" the half roll diminished to a soft jump as Harry's hope to pull it off quietly died.

"Up." He sighed and shook his head before looking up at Neville.

Neville wasn't watching him though; instead, his eyes were focused on his housemates as they swept through the relay portion of the course. More precisely, his eyes were narrowing as he watched Weasley dragging behind in the Gryffindor formation – far enough behind that when he dropped the bludger that he'd been carrying through the course, it fell like a rock directly into Draco's path.

Reacting purely on instinct, Harry grabbed the broom handle and he was barely astride the broom before he was shooting forward. Had it been any other child astride the broom, there would have been no chance of intercepting the bludger barely seconds before it would have struck Draco in the head with a force sufficient to knock him off of his broom despite the safety charms. As it was, Harry only reached the important collision point, barely a foot and a half above Draco's head by wrapping himself in a tight spiral around the broom handle. His small size and unhealthy weight minimized the wind resistance and allowed him to arc over Draco's head like a shield – taking the full force of the charm-enhanced bludger's fall - in the dead center of his spine.

The bludger's impact struck with such force that the sound of his ribs snapping away from his spine echoed across the pitch stopping everyone in their place.


	9. Chapter 9

The Softly Hissing Darkness.

Rating: G

Summary: Harry wakes to meet two formidable snakes.

**The Softly Hissing Darkness.**

Nodding at Severus's gesture toward the privacy screen at the far end of the infirmary, Lucius suppressed a smirk as his friend led the fuming mediwitch away. There was something refreshing in the knowledge that while others might deny him access to the boy based on his past 'affiliations', Madam Pomfrey was equally inclined to refuse the headmaster's access until she felt the boy was up to the visit. Were it not the reminder that the child was currently unconscious (and therefore beyond troubling) and that he was being attended by Lucius's son, who had refused to move from his friend's side so vehemently that even a calming draught had failed to diminish his persistence, Lucius would have been equally banned. That reminder caused enough doubt that Severus was easily able to bundle her off and send Lucius in search of his son.

As he approached the screen, Lucius was rather surprised to his son's soft distraught voice.

"Boom, you idiot. Why did you go and do that? I was trying to stay out of it so hard when that bloody prat was picking on you because I knew you would be upset if I hexed him, and here you go and make me want to hex him bloodless. I know spells that could do it, too. Things they can't treat fast enough, and I swear I'll use them if he ever hurts you again. There won't be enough of him left to find. But, why did you have to go and do something so stupid."

Beyond the idiocy of his son's foolish nearly-public admission to knowing Dark Arts , Lucius was stunned at the frustration and violence in his son's tone. Draco had been so contained in his bare references to the famed boy who lived that, at times, Lucius could barely credit that they were in the same house. Yet, here, his child, who had not only been raised to cunning and discretion but who had shown a deep talent for the facilities, was sufficiently overwrought to make what might, in other circumstances, be a fatal error. There was clearly more to their association than Lucius had gathered, and he was both proud and irked to discover it.

"Njjaah…" a soft pained groan sounded from within the screen, causing Lucius to pause curiously. Far more could be learned of the boy and familiarity before they learned of his presence.

"Boom!" Draco gasped excitedly.

"Naajjjhh." the child voice sounded breathless with pain as he tried to repeat Draco's nick name.

"I'm here, Boom."

"Hurrrtttt?" The child's comment could have easily been misconstrued as a complaint, but both Lucius and Draco easily picked up the questioning note.

"No. I'm okay, what you did stopped it before it was anywhere near me, but Boom, why would you do that?"

"Huhhh?" The child's honest confusion was almost humorous – coming from a Slytherin. Obviously, his rescue of Draco had not been the basis for future manipulations.

"Boom, tell me why you did that – why did you fly in front of the bludger?"

"Najjahh – you co-uld hhuh-hav-e… unnnhhh."

"What's wrong?"

"Noo- 'ts okk-ay. I-I d'd't cos you'dha been hurrrttt."

Well, that was hardly a surprise. With a Gryffindor diluted heritage, the boy was bound to retain at least a modicum of his parent's wayward bravery, though there had been a fair number of Potters in Slytherin and the boy's father had always demonstrated a delightful sense of cunning and ruthlessness.

"You could have yelled or used a spell to deflect it."

"No-uh. No time. Could-ave missed."

So, there had been at least some thought to the boy's seemingly reckless response. Preferrable, if Draco was to continue in his association.

"Oh."

"Oooohh"

"Boom?"

"Uhhhnnnh… Naj-ja, please get Madam Pomfreeeh," the child broke off in a pained gasp.

Before Lucius could make a tactful retreat, Draco bolted around the corner and straight into his legs.

"F-fa-ther?" Draco stuttered as he realized how much his father might know about their friendship.

"Na…Dra-co? You okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine, my father's just arrived, and I didn't quite watch where I was going. Be right back."

Stepping around the privacy screen, Lucius stared at the miniscule figure in shock. The child seemed years to young to even attend Hogwarts, much less barely occupy a bed in its hospital wing after saving an another student from a near fatal attack. The child's wrists were barely as wide as a broom handle and stood out just as starkly. Potter's head was tossed back in a display of fierce effort – his face pale, his eyes clenched tightly, his lower lip trembling between his teeth, his face glazed with a sheen of perspiration, and his breath coming in tiny pants.

This tiny boy, who appeared barely bigger than the pillows placed at his sides to stabilize his back … this was the child who brought ruin on the Dark Lord.

This very small boy, who bore the lacing of long born scars, had somehow rallied the fortitude to inconceivably master flight his very first time on a broom to throw himself into the air from over three hundred yards away and shield Draco at the risk of his own life.

His quiet study was brought to a sudden halt when the child's body seemed to snap free of its effort and collapsed into the pillows behind him, nearly as pale as the sheets beneath him. Caught by unexpected concern, Lucius stepped forward reaching for the boy's wrist when forest green eyes flickered open.

Seeming startled by Lucius's nearness, Potter sat bolt straight as he acknowledged Lucius's presence with a flushed nod. Noticing the hand reaching for his wrist, the boy hesitated then reached out in return and clasped it carefully – surprising Lucius as he leaned his insubstantial weight into the grip for support as he carefully edged off the bed. When Potter was finally standing, though only by somewhat stiffly propping himself at the side of the bed, he released the drip, politely thanking Lucius for his assistance, then pressed his palms flat against his thighs and carefully folded into an exemplary version of the precisely 45 degree bow expected of well mannered young wizards.

"May I introduce myself, Sir?"

Bemused by the child's unexpected propriety in unusual circumstances, Lucius stared at the child in fascination. Only moments before, he had been certain that the child would slip into unconsciousness, yet here the child was greeting him as though their first meeting were at a Ministry fundraiser instead of the child's sick bed. His absorption with the child's manner only increased ten-fold as the child held the even-normally-uncomfortable pose, awaiting his answer with quiet dignity despite the awkwardly cut infirmary gown, the fine trembling of exertion that shook his limbs, and the strained breaths breaking from tightly pinched lips.

"Of course," Lucius murmured as he heard Severus, Madam Pomfrey, and his son approach.

"Greetings, Sir. My name is Harold James Potter. I have been informed that as the future Head of the Ancient and Noble House, in public at least, I must keep my formal name, but in private, Sir, as you are Draco's father, I would be honored if you would call me by Harry."

"Thank you, Mister Potter. It is a pleasure to make you're acquaintance." Lucius paused at the almost uncomfortable realization that it was true. "I regret that, as Head of the Ancient House of Malfoy, I cannot offer you a similar privilege until you reach the age of majority and accept the responsibilities of your house, but I look forward to that day."

"Thank you, Sir." the child responded as he stood from the bow and swayed uneasily.

Any further comment they might have made to each other was swept away by the shocked gasps of his son and the mediwitch as the three came around the edge of the screen.

"Harry…what? How are you… this is incredible…" the mediwitch stared at the child in pure befuddlement as Severus came around her side and scooped his arms beneath the boy's legs and behind his back to lift him carefully into bed. Lucius found himself staring in equal shock at the sight. It was nearly impossible to credit that Severus could be as gentle with anyone outside of Draco- but particularly impossible that he could with Potter's son - the child of a man who had made Severus an outcast even in his own house for no other reason than the enjoyment of another's suffering. His fascination with the boy grew geometrically.

Realizing that he had, quite uncharacteristically, missed an important part of their comments to the boy, Lucius tried to piece together the reasons behind their obvious shock and consternation their from half answered questions.

"Mr. Potter, has something of this magnitude happened previously?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Did you simply wish it away this time?"

"Mmmhhmm," the child yawned negatively as he slipped wearily back into the pillows. "Just wanted to be strong 'nuf to make aaaahhh pro-perhhh first mmpresson."

Just before child slipped off to sleep- having exhausted his magic, according to Madam Pomfrey's report- he turned backed to Lucius and yawned, "Auhhhnhhhh, 's very nissse to meeeet you Sirrhh. I-yeee really like Dra-co and hope you'hhll lettt-us be frens… "

Before Lucius could master his surprise and respond, the child's breathing had slowed into obvious sleep. In his respite, the child appeared even more paradoxically fragile than he had appeared before Lucius had seen him set aside great pain to impress his friend's father. He was abruptly drawn from his reverie by Severus's hand on his shoulder.

"Lucius?!?" Severus's tone sounded wary as he met Lucius's gaze, clearly trying to gauge his friend's appraisal of the boy-who-lived.

It was a reasonable concern, Lucius knew. Potter was a half-blood: the proof of a blood traitor's disgusting coupling with a muggle. By all reports, he was virtually a muggle, himself - having been raised by his muggle relatives. He tiny body laced with scars and abuses, demonstrating the very habits and barbarity that muggles should be reviled for. By all of the standards that Lucius held dear, the child should be at best a revolting symbol of the Dark Lord's fall; at worst, a hated enemy to be reviled and hurt in everyway possible. Instead…

"He is quite unexpected."

"Quite."

"Little one. When will you come to me, Little one?" A mournful hiss woke Harry from the latest of Madam Pomfrey's sleeping spells.

Glancing around Harry was startled to see that he wasn't in his suit in the alcoves where his suitemates slept. Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Harry was surprised to see each of his suitemates had taken a nearby infirmary cot. His throat swelled as studied each one gratefully. No one had ever done that for him before – not even when he was in the infirmary the first time. Realizing that they were all well and truly asleep, he tried to identify what had woken him, but nothing had changed. He hadn't really expected them to be up, but then he was certain that he had heard a voice calling him.

"Hello…" he whispered cautiously. "Who's there?"

"Little one…. Ssssssss….I did not wissssh to wake you. Sssssleep, Little one." After a moment Harry recognized the speech was similar to the speech the snakes at the Slytherin entrance. Was there a snake in their room? He couldn't see one.

"A-re are you a snake?" he quietly hissed the question.

"Ahhh, so no one has sssspoken to you of me. No wonder you have not come."

Anxious that the voice would be angry at who ever had not spoken to him yet, Harry rushed to make their excuses, "Please Ma'am," he answered even as he wondered why it sounded like a Ma'am to him. "Please don't be angry with anyone. They may have wanted to wait until they could be sure I was feeling okay. Today was the first day that I was allowed back to classes and somehow ended right back in the hospital wing."

"Hassss someone struck you?" the voice hissed suspiciously. "I have not seen anyone near other than your nestlings near enough to hunt you. Has one of your nestlings hunted you?"

"No, no Ma'am. No one here hurt me … not intentionally." He really didn't want to think about the thought that Weasley had been willing to hurt Draco just because he was Harry's friend –just like Dudley.

"Ahhh, then resssst, Little one. I will guard you and your nestlings while you heal. No one will hurt you – even 'not intentionally'. When you can return to your nest, the small ones who guard your door can lead you to me. I have waited so long for a speaker to release me… please heal soon." The hissing sounded so exhausted and wistful, that Harry couldn't help but worry.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Ahhh, I had forgotten the questionsss sssmall sspeakerssss can asssk. Yesss, little one, I am sssatisssssfactory."

If it wouldn't have been rude, Harry might have disputed her claim because her voice definitely sounded as if she was depressed and possibly in deep pain.

"Ma'am, if you need me to, I can do some magic that would let me come to you now."

"Asssss done thisss afternoon?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I might not be able to stay long, but…"

"Noo. Your generosssity is appreccciated, but there issss time. I have waited agesssss… in comparissson weekssss, even monthssss are meaninglessss..

"If your sure."

"Yesssss, now sssleeeep."

"Yes ma'am. Good night. Thank you for visiting me."

"Ssssleep, we shall sssspeak sssoon. .


	10. Chapter 10

Two Boons and a Pact

Rating: G

Summary: In the aftermath of Harry's stunning rescue of Draco, an unusual deal takes place.

**Two Boons and a Pact **

"Harry, have you considered what boon you might wish to ask of me?"

Lucius asked as he watched the much vaunted boy-who-lived with thinly veiled amusement. There was a decidedly delicious irony in watching the frail child interact with Draco and Severus. The child's tone was almost subservient to Draco and nearly worshipful of Severus as he attempted to explain himself for both his rash rescue attempt and his remarkable, though ill-considered, attempt to strengthen instead of heal himself with wish magic. It was probably the deference that the boy was paying Draco (combined with the amusing sight of Severus spluttering every time the boy's parentage showed in blatant admissions and cloying sincerity) that prompted Lucius to give the child a brief respite from their lectures. But the blaze of desperate gratitude that flashed through Potter's eyes as he turned to question Lucius cinched it.

"Sir?" Potter asked with obvious confusion. "A boon?"

"It is not uncommon for the head of a noble house to reward an individual who has performed an act of great benefit to that house. Preventing Draco, the direct heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, suffering a grievous and severe injury could easily be defined as an act of great benefit to this house; therefore, you are entitled to request a reward should you desire one."

"A reward, Sir? I wouldn't ask for a reward to keeping Draco from being hurt when I could do something about it. Draco's m… I th-think of Draco as a friend. I'd be a pretty sorry friend if I didn't try to keep him from being hurt if I could." Realizing how pushy, even self-righteous, he'd sounded, the child blushed heatedly at his own impertinence.

Luscious, however, simply smirked - not having expected Potter to grasp the more manipulative opportunity being presented after having overheard the boy's discussion with his son in the infirmary wing. Too many wizards, even in Slytherin, had simply accepted the idea that Slytherins were, by nature, manipulative and opportunistic. Lucius, who had longed –since childhood- for political power beyond the power inherent in being a direct heir to an ancient and noble house, knew better after years spent observing the many the natures of his housemates, whom he deemed to be his most likely competition for such power.

As a result, he could often easily discern the factors that landed a child in Slytherin, as well as the most likely means of exploiting these factors. As Severus had, in his youth, Potter practically radiated with an air of long-suffered abuses, low self-worth, and un-confessed fears, and Lucius had no doubt that, like Severus, the child could be won over quite easily with carefully meted praise and a semblance of concern. The effort had been well worth Lucius's minimal attentions to Severus, and Lucius was quite certain that similar efforts toward Potter could be parlayed into a wealth of benefits for both Draco and himself.

"No, Harry. A boon need not be anything as coarse as money or a similar 'reward' – given as payment for such a service. Friendships would undoubtedly falter if they were reliant on such gifts. Instead, consider it similar to giving a child a confectionary treat in celebration of high grades. The distinction of outcome (between high grades and Draco's health and well being) simply merits a greater show of appreciation in this instance."

When the boy slowly relaxed from the tense position he'd taken since his outburst and began to pensively chew his lips, Lucius coaxed: "Do you have a familiar? Perhaps an owl? They can be quite useful creatures. A broom of your own? You certainly have the skill to make use of one. Is there truly no boon, gift, or favor you would ask of me?"

"Gift?" Harry's eyes flashed with a glimpse of curious anxiety that Lucius could not help but wonder at. After a moment's indecision, the child surprised them all by quietly asking if he could speak with Lucius alone.

Raising an eyebrow at Severus's archy glower, followed by a clearly reluctant nod, Lucius carefully suppressed his smirk at the potion master's clearly protective and possessive demeanor while taking note of how deeply entrenched his old friend's care for the boy must be to display such blatant concern. Although Lucius had long recognized Severus's connection to his godson, he had never suspected that his oldest associate was capable of shaking loose even a single ounce more compassion, particularly not for this child. Yet, there they stood Severus and his own son – both of whom he had discovered keeping well hidden their sentiments about the boy-who-lived, even from him – clearly very reluctant to even consider leaving the child alone with him. If this was even a hint to the loyalty that the child could engender in others, over so short a time, he was definitely a pawn to have in hand.

If deftly maneuvered, the boy might even be the key to wresting control of his former protégé back from that muggle-besotted loon that the Board of Governors had placed in charge of Hogwarts. Though an intensely proud man, Lucius had never allowed himself to be deluded by his own mistakes, and the loss of his control over Severus had been one of his greatest – perhaps even greater than declaring himself for the self-styled Dark Lord that Lucius had once hoped to use as a camouflage and shield to disguise his own campaign for power. Banking on Riddle's early charisma, Lucius had unwittingly committed himself a madman and had taken a mark that he had not truly understood the ramifications of until after the Dark Lord's first fall had allowed him the opportunity to reflect back on his previous actions – with loathing and disgust.

The mark itself was a corrupting influence that it had taken many years to limit the influences of. But, due largely to the mark's own magic, he had not realized it until its maker was diminished and exiled by this confrontation with the child.

"Sir…" Harry interrupted his introspection nervously.

"There was something you wished to ask of me?" Perhaps, he owed the child two boons for enabling him to free himself from the throes and influences of the Dark Mark.

"Yes, Sir." Harry's voice suddenly slipped almost below Lucius's hearing as the child explained in an embarrassed rush: "Sir, Christmas-is-coming-pretty-soon-and-I've-never-been-Christmas-shopping-in-the-muggle-world-much -less-the-wizarding-world,but-Millicent-says-that-the-gifts-I-give,-as-the-head-of-the-House-of-the-  
Potter-household,-are-very-very-important-to-making-alliances-and-alliances-are-important-between-houses. One-of-the-account-managers-at-Gringotts-said-I-I-have-access-to-a-special-account-for-"just-such-a-purpose", but-I-don't-know-what-to-get-and-what-not-to…Could-you-please-teach-me?"

Somewhat bemused that he had actually understood the entire explanation, though it was given in a single breath, Lucius took a moment to diminish his smile to a merely humorously tolerant expression before he turned. It wouldn't do at all to let the boy know that he was virtually delivering himself into Lucius's influence.

"You do realize that your request reflects a rather lengthy tutelage; that such lessons are usually carried out in person, by example, over years; and that my duties as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy are not ideally suited to delivering such instruction in a traditional manner."

"Oh, I-I-I had-n't." Harry answered quietly, apparently paled by the thought that his request had been for something far more involved than he realized. "I'm sorry; I really wouldn't have asked if I had."

"Harry, I did not intend to imply that I was unwilling to do so," Lucius smiled graciously – pleased to see that he would take such a small caution so seriously, then continued, "but simply that it could not be done in the traditional manner – the same manner that Draco will learn the subject. What I would propose, instead, is to proceed through the same instruction by correspondence. Perhaps a visit over the holidays could be arranged for us to attend certain functions that will expose you to the alliances you will one day need to make."

Waiting until the child's face regained some color and lit up with understanding, Lucius finished laying the path the first of many steps the child would take under his 'guidance': "We will not have time to address the subject thoroughly by this Christmas; however, I believe that I can assist you in making the appropriate choices this year, and the expectations placed on you for your first Christmas in the wizarding 'world' (as you call it) will not be as exacting as they will be in later years. By this time, next year, I believe we will have covered the material sufficiently that you should be able to make suitable choices without advisement."

"Thank you, Sir. If you're sure you don't mind, that would be brilliant. I didn't know it would take so much time, or I really wouldn't have asked, but … it would be brilliant if you could. … Thank you."

"You are quite welcome, Harry." Lucius's let his smile reflect some of the genuine pleasure he was feeling at Harry's reception. It was so much easier to sway other's opinions when they felt indebted to you simply for discussing the matter with them.

"It occurs to me, Harry, that there are other areas of instruction that you might benefit from as well. While Hogwarts is staffed with excellent and knowledgeable instructors, there are none, to my knowledge, who have the singular experience of being a Head of an Ancient and Noble House. As you are of roughly equal station, already consider yourself Draco's friend, and have proven that commitment with your recent actions, it would not be inappropriate for me to help you cultivate the skills you will need both as his companion and as a head of house, yourself… if you wish to become skilled in these areas, that is."

"Th-thank you, Sir. Thank you. The account manager at Gringott's wrote that there were estate courses I could take in Seventh year, but I'll already be an adult then and 'in control' of the estate. It worried me a bit because it's already obvious that there's so much I could muck up before I learned what to do. I don't know how to thank you."

"Well, there's no need to worry about thanks at this juncture. Once you have a better understanding of your station, I am certain you will be able to conceive of an appropriate recompense."

After a short discussion of what other matters Lucius could advise Harry on, the child began to yawn softly – completely unaware of the unspoken somnolence spell that Lucius had cast moments before. As he left the child to Severus and Draco's watchful eyes, Lucius made a pact with himself: by the end of the school year, he would have the child in his thrall and (with both Harry and Draco in hand) Severus back under his influence not long after. Turning to favor the three with a parting smile, Lucius noted Draco's worried gaze and Severus's grim expression, but gave them little thought.

Certainly, there would be some reluctance, but Lucius knew himself to be a master at manipulation and had no doubt that, before they even realized it, they would be eagerly delivering themselves up – just as Harry had.


	11. Chapter 11

Friends with Snakes

Rating: G

Summary: Even cold hearts have a difficult time resisting Harry's charm.

**Friends with Snakes**

Ahhsitha slithered circles around the basket in confusion. The young speaker's scent permeated the basket, and it was clear that he had brought the acromantula eggs to her chamber for her pleasure. But, that in itself, was confusing.

Her first interactions with the child had reminded her that young speakers were so often delicate unknown quantities: where one might display great bravado to cover intense fear – another might offer great compassion. The last speaker that she had known before this one had been the former while this child had seemed the latter.

The previous speaker, despite all her efforts, had been truly a lost cause. Rather than releasing her from her ancient pact as she had hoped, that child had been so inculcated in fear that he could see no other option than using her to force his own terror on others. In an incident that she had long regretted, he had even called on the pact to demand that she protect the school from muggle incursion. Finding the castle more heavily scented with muggles than it had been in centuries past, Ahhsitha had responded to the perceived threat on instinct and threw herself out the nearest opening that she sensed turmoil near, ending the life of an innocent student before she came to her senses enough to know that the threat he had warned her of was false. Her rage at the deceitful human had lasted several weeks and she had refused to answer his calls after that, knowing that he could not be trusted to release her.

The risk she had taken in doing so had been unsettling when, year after year, no other speaker had come to dispute his claim that he was the last heir of Slytherin.

By the time the little one had arrived, Ahhsitha had resigned herself to spending her long-remaining life trapped in the misery of the castle's stifling, cold, stone chambers. But the little one had been an entirely different kind of being than the other. When Ahhsitha gently explained the life she had lead, confined to the castle's inner recesses, without purpose or distraction – the child had immediately taken it upon himself to release her from the pact without question of what she could offer in exchange.

Unexpectedly freed, Ahhsitha paused to give her thanks and found herself surprised yet again when the little speaker asked after her plans, whether she had a new place to go, and whether she would need any help to leave the castle. His questions were a surprise in more than one way. It had been so long since she had truly credited the possibility of escaping her confinement that she had given up on her expectations even before she felt the distinctive magics of the forest growing more and more distant.

What the outer world would be like, she had no idea. Would there be enough forest left to take shelter in? To hunt in? What beasts were left? At night, she still, on occasion, heard the distant clicking and clattering of Acromantula. But, was she up to the swift and difficult hunts required to bring down the fearsome tree-dwellers? Or, would she find, after generations of surviving on what rats and small creatures she could catch in the few pipes and paths she could travel through the castle, her hunt turned back on her to make a feast for the eight-legged horde?. She was uncertain even of whether the caves of her youth remained to shelter her through the winter.

Sensing her hesitancy, the little one had suggested that they look to make certain that she had an exit to come and go as she pleased but that she use the chambers until she found a new home to her liking. Ahhsitha had easily agreed, in spite of her surprise at his generosity, but, that had not been her last surprise.

When Ahhsitha had returned from an ill-fated hunt, weakened by and bleeding from centaur's caustic bolts, the youngling had suffered her pain-dirven snappishness to dig out each bolt so that she could heal. Then, in an act that defied explanation, the little one used a detention, with the small giant that roamed the school's grounds, to meet with the centaurs and convince the stubborn half-nags to allow her safe passage through the forest on the sole proviso that she hunt neither them nor the unicorn. Less than a moon's passage later, the little one returned to inform her of a similar agreement with the acromantula. That agreement was what made his current gift so confusing.

Although unused to trusting another being, Ahhsitha had grown to trust the little one and did not quite credit the boy with jeopardizing the truce that he had, quite possibly, risked his life to arrange without asking for anything in return.

"_Are the tree-dweller's eggs soured? I had hoped you might like them?" _The little one's voice inquired from the shadows.

"_Explain. What of the truc-sss-e?"_ Ahhsitha asked in return, pleased that her recent practice speaking with him was slowly improving her control of her hiss-like speech.

"_Oh, no, it shouldn't affect that at all. These eggs did not come from the nearby tree-dwellers. They were…" _he tried several words that simply did not translate, but finally found one close to his meaning: _"gathered from tree-dwellers far away who have been raised to give their eggs away for poison mixers. The poison mixer who guards my nest helped me… get them for you."_

"_Ahh, then…" _Ahhsitha dismissed aside her hesitation and swiftly devoured the eggs, turning her head to block his vision as she pierced the larvae with a fang before swallowing them – responding to an instinct, which warned her that, though the little one have gathered the eggs for her, he might not be prepared to cope with the deaths of the infant tree-dwellers. When she was certain that her fangs was free of their ichor, she finally turned back and complimented: _"They were rich and filling. Thank you."_

"_You're quite welcome. I'm visiting my nestmate's home for …" _None of the phrases that he came up with made sense, so he finally went on with his explanation,_ "but I wanted to be certain that you had your gift before I left. I wasn't sure what the castle keepers would do with tree-dweller's eggs if they found them, or how long they took to hatch."_

"_You will return sssoon?"_ Ahhsitha asked anxiously.

"_Oh, yes, the visit will only be for half-a- moon's passage; the poison maker wants us to return to the castle earlier than the other nest mates so that he can teach me other things."_

"_Good. Sstay ssafe, little one. Return with a new skin." _

"_Oh, you too... I almost forgot; my nestmate taught me a new spell." _Pulling his wand, the little one softly muttered some of the humans' magic words and smiled as Ahhsitha's chambers began to warm. Silent with amazement at feeling bone-deep comfort for the first time since the pact maker left the castle, Ahhsitha stared at him with fondness as he waved to her before calling "Happy Christmas" in his own language and slipping back down the hall toward the poison maker's nest.


	12. Chapter 12

Time Apart

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes?

**Time Apart**

"And Ahhsitha?" Harry's voice quivered slightly with worry.

"Yes, and Ahhsitha! Of course, I'll look out for your two thousand year old, twenty-nine yard long basilisk and make certain she doesn't come to harm over the summer." Severus would have found his response humorous if the child wasn't looking up at his with such glowing trust.

"And, you'll write every day?"

"Yes, you have the journal. All that you will need to do is moisten your finger with saliva and touch what ever page you want to write on. I have the duplicate, right here in my pocket. As soon as ink touches your page, the duplicate will resize incrementally until I am able to read what you've written."

"And, you'll really write back?"

"Yes. I will 'really' write back to you. It may not be immediately, but I will not let a missive go unanswered… even if only to discuss your potions homework." Even after nearly a year, it almost hurt Severus to hear the eager awe in the child's voice at the thought that he would actually take the time to respond. It was almost as uncomfortable to hear the child's eagerness to delve into long rambling discussions about his potions homework. If he could have been certain that Harry truly enjoyed potions and had a taste for the art, he would have happily fostered the boy's studies. But, when both Draco and he, obviously, had a natural interest in potions, it was difficult to separate Harry's true interests from his desire for their approval.

"And, you'll meet us at Diagon Alley, when I get to visit Draco."

"I will, I have already brewed for the infirmary's needs and can rearrange my schedule to suit whatever date and time Lucius can wrangle out of Mr. Dursley."

"And, Bernice?"

"Aghhh," Severus sighed pinching the bridge of his nose as he explained for the second time, "Madam Sprout has already made a spot in her gardens for your devil's snare plant. … Are there any other "And's" you would like to add?"

It was obvious that Harry was skirting around what he truly wanted to say, but Severus had long ago abandoned even the slightest impulse to pressure the child that he had surreptitiously nicknamed "Slytherin's smallest treasure". Severus had said it out loud only once, on returning from a singularly depressing meeting with Madam Pomfrey, after Harry had very nearly frightened both Draco and Narcissa to death when he lost his balance and fell down the Malfoys' mistletoe-adorned, spiral staircase before they could even draw their wands. Following so closely on the terrible break, caused by that wretched red-headed horror that had, very briefly, been the latest Weasley contribution to the chaos of Hogwarts, and the child's ill-thought out attempt to heal himself - the injury from the Malfoy's staircase had marked paid to any possibility that the child would ever play quidditch. Both Severus and Madam Pomfrey were certain that, with extensive treatment, Harry would be able to walk normally perhaps even fly, but his back would probably never be able endure the fierce athleticism required to make the swift dives and sharp turns that quidditch was so rife with.

But, the child's natural stamina and health had to be recovered before the treatments could begin- a fact, which was only complicated by the years of physical and emotional abuse that the child had suffered – years of ill and failing health that might take years to over come, despite Severus's best potions and the mediwitch's best therapies. As it was, the child was leaving Hogwarts strapped into a muggle back brace beneath his robes to support him once he crossed into non magical London.

Severus had dreaded breaking the news, certain that there would have been a time that Harry, like his father, would have wanted to try out for the house team. Also, though he had no evidence to attest to it, outside of Harry's one tragically accurate flight, Severus had been equally certain that the tiny child would have done his house proud, perhaps as a seeker or a chaser. He had barely been able to meet Harry's bright eyes when he finally broke the news. But, Harry, ever the surprise, had quietly informed him that he'd watched a few of the quidditch matches from the infirmary windows and the fighting and cheating that went on in them was a little scary to him, besides – other than the one scary dash to protect Draco – he didn't have any pleasant memory of flying to miss.

It was later that evening, during a conversation with Albus about Harry's remarkable attitude, that he had first mentioned the nick name, in front of Albus no less. For days on end, the doddering old administrator had twinkled as if he had jewel encrusted eyes, until Severus had finally ventured an attempt to keep Harry from going back to the Dursley's. The twinkling had ended then and there as the headmaster insisted that Harry had to return, if only for a portion of the summer, which was why Severus was now reluctantly carrying Harry down to the express.

"And…" Harry finally interrupted his reverie, blushing with embarrassment as he gestured to some trees and asked, "Could we step over there?"

"Yes, of course." Severus sighed followed the gesture until they were hidden by enough trees to give the child his privacy. When he settled Harry gently to the ground; however, instead of turning to the bushes as Severus expected, the child threw himself around Severus's waist and hugged him tightly.

"I'll miss you, Sir. Thank you for doing everything…for just everything… for me this year. I really, really appreciate it and wanted to tell you so, but I can make it from here… and … and … it would be easier to keep my Slytherin face on if I say goodbye here. If that's okay."

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Severus smiled softly and nodded before reaching down to wrap the child in the first hug that he had given in over twenty years. Breaking from his arms with a sob, Harry clumsily rushed toward the train, but despite Severus's worry that the child was pushing himself, he held himself firmly to his early in the year decision to honor as many of the child's wishes as he could and waited where he was –watching until not even the high plumes of steam from the express could be seen in the distance.


	13. Chapter 13

To Your Station

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes?

A/N: OMG – I've missed soooo many review alerts. Growling at I didn't even know that the reviews had broke the hundred review mark (YAY!!!! Thank you all you beautiful, wise, kind, and wonderful reviewers) until I look to day and see that it's already at 145 reviews. Major, major happy dance. A tango, even.

Now, on to the story:

_Swallowing a lump in his throat, Severus smiled softly and _

_nodded before reaching down to wrap the child in the first_

_hug that he had given in over twenty years. Breaking from_

_his arms with a sob, Harry clumsily rushed toward the train._

**To Your Station**

Draco smirked at the completely gobsmacked expression Harry wore. His friend's mouth worked incredulously – alternating between a gaping chin drop and lips snapping shut over words he couldn't quite get out. It had been obvious that Harry had been just dying to ask why Draco had kept his school robes on until they had reached the train station. But even after an entire school year as Draco's friend, Harry still carefully avoided doing anything that he suspected might upset his first real friend.

"Boom?"

"You're … You're…"

"Yes?" Draco's smile stretched even wider.

"Naja! You're dressed… like a muggle." Harry practically hissed in alarm.

"Well, so are you." Draco teased.

"But," Harry struggled for the subtle, political phrasing that Severus was painstakingly teaching Draco's small friend. Finally after an unfortunately long pause, Harry flushed and finished, "I thought your father preferred for you to dress in accordance to your station."

Stifling a sigh at his friend's hesitant manner, Draco complimented gently: "Now that's a nice turn of phrase, Boom, you've really been paying attention."

"Really?"

"Yeah, your comment could have as easily implied that my parents simply wanted me to appear the upstanding wizard as it would have implied, to someone who knew them well, that they may feel that muggles are of a lower station. Very nice."

"Thanks, Naja." Harry relaxed under Draco's praise for a second before he realized that he'd been maneuvered and distracted.

"Naja…"

"Yes?"

"You're parents are waiting the station waiting. How are you going to explain the way you're dressed?"

"I don't think there will be anything to explain." The blond nearly broke into laughter as wide green eyes followed his gaze to his parents through the train window.

Not fifty steps beyond their compartment's window, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood amiably chatting with Harry's aunt and uncle. More surprising than that, while Lady Malfoy was neutrally gowned in a dress suit that could have been a muggle or wizard made but was definitely a designer original, Lord Malfoy was conservatively attired in a sleek slate grey business suit that might have been straight off a mannequin on Savile Row if it weren't so obviously bespoke and customized so narrowly to his specifications that Harry couldn't help but wonder if the Prime Minister had anything quite so nice.

What caught Harry's attention even more than that, though, was Lord Malfoy's hair.

The aristocrat's once curtain of almost glowing platinum locks had been sheered and dirtied to a glimmering ivory tone cut a conventionally business-like, muggle style.

"His hair…" Harry's voice sounded simultaneously shaky and awe-filled at the same time.

"What about it?" Draco asked, suppressing his anticipatory chuckle until Harry turned to glance at him and discover that his friend's hair had changed to match the same shade glimmering ivory that his parents' now wore.

"Y-your h-hair." His diminutive friend stammered in shock forcing hearty laughter from Draco.

"Do you like it?" Draco teased only to feel a sudden lurch in his stomach when Harry shook his head negatively. Clearly recognizing Draco's disappointment, Harry flushed and began to nervously pull at the hem of his cousin's oversized jumper. His teeth worried his lower lip and Draco quickly lost sight of his wide green eyes as they fixed somewhere on the floor between their feet. He could have cursed, but suppressed it into a tolerant sigh – with a reflective thought to how little Harry had changed over the year. While, in some ways, he seemed completely different (having overcome the need to please Millicent Bulstrode at every turn, sleeping through the night without the assistance of a potion, and even speaking up at house meetings), when it came to either his or his godfather's approval – Harry could be turned into an almost shivering wreck by the thought that they disagreed with him.

"Boom, stop that. I was just teasing. I am curious, though. Why don't you like it?"

"It's not you. Your hair shines like a beam of sunlight, but like this… it's… well, it's like…"

"Yes?" Draco smiled softly appreciating the compliment thoroughly. He was rather proud of his hair normally, and if Harry could compare it to a beam of sunlight, in its natural state, all the better.

"It's like putting a lampshade on… and you really can't put a lampshade on sunlight, can you? You shouldn't."

"Thank you. That's a great explanation. I can't help but feel flattered by it and almost wish that I could change it back, but…." Draco stopped abruptly, realizing that he was about to give away their surprise.

"But?"

"But, they're waiting." Draco answered with a nod to the adults who had located them and were even then staring in at their conversation. Pausing to study Harry's supposed Uncle, Draco almost shuddered.

The man was enormous- truly, unnaturally, enormous- and beside him stood a disgustingly simpering woman, who might have been a house elf for her pandering airs. These were the hateful creatures who had quite literally tortured his friend? His first glance at the man's eyes was almost enough to make him nauseous on its own; there was an atavistic glitter in his eye when he looked at Harry and the primitive emotions showing there could not bode well for his friend. Harry, though, seemed not to notice, or worse, if he did notice it was too familiar with the gleam of brutality to think it odd. As he watched the couple, Draco began to wonder whether his father's plan would work.


	14. Chapter 14

Best Laid Plans

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes?_ Italics flashback._

_Pausing to study Harry's supposed Uncle, Draco almost shuddered._

_The man was enormous- truly, unnaturally, enormous- and beside _

_him stood a disgustingly simpering woman, who might have been_

_a house elf for her pandering airs. These were the hateful creatures_

_who had quite literally tortured his friend?_

**Best Laid Plans**

Fingering the gilted tip of the holly wand, tied by only a wisp of a ribbon into the silk sheath ending just inside her cuff, at the pulse point on her wrist, Narcissa mused over how easily she could draw it and nearly unseen cast any one of two dozen hexs to remove the woman's tongue. Really, the way that the woman prattled on and on about her 'charming and talented' son - while totally ignoring the fact that they were waiting for her nephew- was simply infuriating.

The wand's closeness to her fingertips was tantalizing. As was Narcissa's absolutely certainty that anyone forced to spend time in the woman's presence would immediately absolve her of silencing the woman in anyway possible. That the ungainly, horse-faced woman and little Harry were related was nearly unfathomable and if asked by Severus or her husband, Narcissa might have even admitted that there was a bit of a temptation to sever that relationship (given what her son had alluded to) and abscond with the tiny boy back into the civility and grace of the wizarding community. Such a child had never been meant to pander and cater to the likes of the woman, who was even yet lowing her praises onto her absent son, who the woman claimed had been regretfully forced to stay home to continue his studies after being sent home midyear, due to an unfortunately dangerous prank on a smaller schoolmate... that he had nothing whatsoever to do with – according to his obviously biased mother.

Continuing to compliment Narcissa on the quality of her gown with pitifully disguised jealously, the woman simpered and cooed over the clearly pampered and spoiled lout (who sounded as loathsome as the cretin who had attempted to hurt her son) – trying to convince Narcissa that her 'duddykins' would be a much better companion for Narcissa's son than Harry, who had never even been to the Grunning's plant before. The ludicrous woman had not even the slightest concept of how pitifully blatant her machinations were, but the most that Narcissa would hedge was allowing the muggle spawn to attend her tutoring sessions for the boys – at the suggestion of her husband for which he would categorically have to explain himself at their earliest opportunity. Something he could have already done, if he were not avoiding her gaze so intently.

"Cissy," the guilty party broke her revelations in a cajoling tone. "Isn't that Drake's little friend?"

Catching the knowing glint in his eye as he briefly dropped his glance to the fingers slipped into her sleeve, Narcissa quickly pasted on a mindless smile as she scanned the windows slowly rolling to a stop before her. Barely fifty feet away, there they stood: her Draco and his devoted little friend. As she watched the tiny face break into an awed gaze – a warm, genuine smile crossed her lips. It was surprising, even to her, how quickly she had grown fond of the child. But, then, Narcissa suspected that she would favor anyone who was so openly and commitedly devoted to her darling Draco.

_The Christmas holidays had been nearly an unending series of revelations for her. Draco, who had left her care, a prideful, often self-obsessed, and arrogant child, returned as a confidant, self-assured, caring young man blossoming into the responsibilities that his position would hold for him – all seemingly due to the influences of one unusually matched friend. The match had been sounded so ludicrous when Lucius first mentioned it that Narcissa had cast every diagnostic spell she knew to determine the unpotioned, sound, and reasoned stated of her husband's mind. Her chuckling spouse had even allowed her a brief legillimency session to be certain that he was neither obliviated nor under any form of external control before she finally listened to his motives for allowing the friendship. _

_Admittedly, his reasoning had some intrigue; there were quite a number of ways that her darling son could exploit the friendship to his advantage, but while they were persuasive reasons, Narcissa had not been inclined until she and Severus took the boy shopping for Draco's Christmas gift. The trip had lasted six hours while Harry endlessly questioned Narcissa about Draco's preferences down to the minutest details of colors and materials. When she had finally let her impatience slip, in a huffed comment that he should have put even a moment's thought into the gift before they went shopping, she was not only startled by Severus's reproachful gaze but also by the thick roll of parchment that the child produced contain a list that might have taken months to craft. _

_After reading the list, Narcissa noticed Severus's curious glance and handed it over for his bemused reading. It was a carefully thought out explication (from a child's perspective) of every possible gift Draco might desire- with annotations of how and why one might be more appropriate than another. It could have only been created by someone who placed Draco's interests and preferences before the possibilities of receiving something in return – in short, by someone who truly cared about Draco. The shopping trip had been sufficient to persuade her to genuinely welcome him into her home, but it was Harry's reaction to his injury and his gift to Draco on Boxing Day that truly cemented her fondness for the boy. _

_After discovering that he would have no hope to play quidditch, in the future, instead of dissolving into self-pity, Harry had spent close to twenty minutes in deep contemplation before asking his Severus to return to the manor and ask both she and Lucius to visit with him at Hogwarts – not realizing that they had never left the infirmary. (What child could think that his hosts would have so little regard as to even leave before discovering the extent of his injuries?) As soon sat with him, the child immediately apologized for any worry he might have caused them and hoped that he hadn't ruined Christmas – then did an astonishing thing. He asked if he could by Draco a Nimbus 2001 for Boxing Day. _

_Lucius had immediately been livid – almost roaring at the child that Draco was no servant to anyone, and Narcissa seriously suspected that Lucius and Severus would have come to blows if the characteristically shy child had not intervened- in the loudest tones that his unassuming presence could muster._

"_No, Sir, he's not. But, even though he has tutored me and helped me an awful lot throughout the whole year here, that's not why I'd like to give him a present tomorrow. It's the only justification that I think he'd accept for my gift and I really, really think it's important for me to give it to him. Please, Sir. Please, just let me explain, and if you don't want me to, I won't get it for him. Merlin, I couldn't really without your help anyway; it's not like I'll be getting away from Madam Pomfrey before the holidays are over."_

"_Explain, then," Lucius challenged - still almost seething, more with his own issues than with what the child had innocently suggested- but his anger quickly cooled as the astute child explained that he was worried that Draco would feel conflicted about following his own interests in Quidditch because of what happened, and even if he did try out for the team the following year, Harry was almost certain that the shadow of him losing the ability to play through two incidents that were loosely his cause would impair Draco's performance … unless Harry did something immediate and profound to underscore his support of Draco – something like buying him the best racing broom on the market as well as the young professional training gear produced by Draco's favorite team, the Bulgarian National Team. _

_Acknowledging several of Harry's points, after insuring that Harry did not, in fact hold his friend as much to blame as Draco, himself, did, Lucius finally agreed and left with a blank bank draft that Harry had arranged with young Miss Bullstrode's assistance and kept on him incase of emergencies. Narcissa was left behind to study the child that she was finding more and more to her liking with every passing moment. _

"Mrs. Malfoy. It is a great pleasure to see you again. I hope you are well?" The child's quiet voice broke her from her reveries once again.

"Very well, Harry, thank you, and yourself? I would offer you a hug, but Severus mentioned that it would not be advisable until you are out of the brace again."

"Okay. Thank you for the thought though. You've spoken with Professor Snape, then?"

"Spoken with? I suspect you could, very loosely, say that we spoke. A more accurate description might suggest that I listened as he set very concise and narrow boundaries and limitations on what he called over-mothering you. I'll have you know that while I am certainly permitted to offer you high tea, I am not, under any circumstances to embarrass you by suggesting in front of any others of your age that you need to tame that ever defiant lick of hair that we should have both realized would not be tamed without a straightening potion and several irons."

"He actually said that?" the surprised tone of his question brought Narcissa's fingers back to the tip of her wand at the thought that he was so unused to such common care. These muggles had no idea how lucky they were that Harry and Draco were present.

"Certainly." She smirked as a realization clicked in his eyes.

"Ma'am, how is it that we are going to see so much of each other that he felt the need to make that comment?"

Lucius had been right, though not as naturally cagey and cunning as Draco, Harry was still not without intelligence.

"Oh, Harry, I would have thought your aunt and uncle would have informed you," Narcissa began, unable to resist that small jibe at his supposed guardians.

"No, Ma'am," Harry responded, without taking the time to glance at his relatives who were eyeing him with barely disguised disgust.

"How forgetful; though, I suppose they might have other things on their minds with your imminent return. In any event, Draco's father represents a party who owns controlling interest in the Grunnings Plant, and will have to be on hand over the summer. Draco and I could have gone on vacation alone, but it has been so long since he's seen his father that he asked to stay with us in Surrey. Your aunt and uncle have kindly acceded to our request that you be freed up from your summer responsibilities to provide Draco some summer companionship. In return, I will be coaching you on the same estate management lessons that Draco will receive. Will that be to your taste?"

While Severus had warned her not to hug the tiny child without warning, there had apparently been no warning to avoid the reverse: as an expression of true delight spread over his face, Harry wrapped his arms around her in a tentative return of her affection. The gentleness with which he held her was almost disturbing for it clearly spoke of his unfamiliarity with the gesture, but Narcissa enjoyed it as much for the knowledge that the Aunt had, quite obviously, never had the satisfaction of experiencing something so genuine as the child's caring contact.


	15. Chapter 15

Bumps Along the Way

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

_Your aunt and uncle have kindly acceded to our request  
that you be freed up from your summer responsibilities  
to provide Draco some summer companionship. In return,  
I will be coaching you on the same estate management lessons  
that Draco will receive. Will that be to your taste?"_

_While Severus had warned her not to hug the tiny child without warning,  
there had apparently been no warning to avoid the reverse:  
as an expression of true delight spread over his face,  
Harry wrapped his arms around her in a tentative return of her affection.  
The gentleness with which he held her was almost disturbing,  
for it clearly spoke of his unfamiliarity with the gesture,  
but Narcissa enjoyed it as much for the knowledge that the Aunt  
would never have the satisfaction of experiencing  
something so genuine and sweet as the child's caring contact._

**Bumps Along the Way**

Harry was just releasing Lady Malfoy's waist with the horrified realization of what he'd done, and in front of his Aunt and Uncle, as if there were any possible way of making things worse, when he was startled from behind by a loud screeching. Turning curiously, with Lady Malfoy's arm still wrapped across his shoulder (pulling him lightly back against her as her husband pulled Draco to his side), Harry was surprised to see a familiar, large red-haired woman in a dowdy (even by wizard standards) brown and gold robes – wildly swinging and gesticulating toward him while yelling at an also familiar sulking red-haired boy Harry's age dressed in Old World Russian looking brown and gold dueling robes.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," the angry woman screeched as she dragged the boy forward with one hand and swung the owl cage in her other hand toward Harry again – throwing the already addled little bird from its perch again as she continued, "If you want to step one foot outside of the burrow for the rest of the summer, you will go over there right this minute and apologize to that boy, right now! And, ask him for your forgiveness while you're at it, too. If it weren't for that child's kindness, you would have gone to Azkhaban instead of Durmstrung, and you'd best let him know you're grateful for it, too. Do you hear me?"

Ron Weasley must have answered appropriately because she suddenly pushed him sharply at Harry and Lady Malfoy until he stumbled to a halt barely two feet from them.

Harry tried to step forward to meet Ron but was caught in surprise by Lady Malfoy's arm tightening around his shoulders until he glanced up and met her eyes. To his surprise, when their eyes met, Lady Malfoy was looking down at him with concern. Glancing around her arm at his aunt, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he would see even the slightest trace of concern, but she was clearly far more disturbed by the growing scene than the thought anything might trouble him.

"Harry, would you rather we dealt with this?" Though she indicated his aunt and uncle in the 'we', Harry was certain that she was referring to only her husband and herself. He knew better than to trouble his aunt and uncle with the matter and realized quickly that they would take offense if he let the Malfoys handle it in their place; so –though he really didn't want to deal with the boy he hadn't seen again since he was hurt – Harry shook his head, touched her hand in a polite unspoken request to be released, and replied softly, "No, Ma'am. I think I'm up to accepting apologies."

Before he'd completely turned back, Mrs. Weasley was sharply rounding on her son again, "Just where do you think you're going?"

"He said he'd accept it."

"He most certainly did not, and could not have because you haven't even said it yet. Now you turn back around and don't think I won't drop your trous, right here and now, and use my wand to switch you redder than your hair if I see even a tad more of this nonsense. You apologize to him right this minute, and mean it, or so help me, I'll…"

By that point, the rest of the Weasleys had caught up to them and Mr. Weasley had laid a hand on her arm to calm her.

"Okay! Okay! I will." Ron practically snarled as he turned back to Harry.

"Don't use that tone with me, young man. You have no idea how much difficulty you've caused your father and I. The minister, himself, called your father in to discuss your behavior. Can you imagine how embarrassed your father was to have to explain why his child would do such a thing to the boy-who-lived? Can you?" She was off on a rant, again before the others could seem to interrupt her: "And Durmstrung? Do you think they even wanted you after you'd been expelled from Hogwarts? Do you know how many strings your father had to pull even to get you in, not to mention how much more it cost us to buy you a new wardrobe suited to their climate and colors? We would have probably gone into debt to do it, if that child hadn't asked the Headmaster to help us by returning your fees. He didn't have to - you know? Neither did the Headmaster."

Harry winced when he saw her comment's hit a sore spot with his potential friend turned rival and the boy's eyes darkened with anger and embarrassment.

"Well, good on him then, but we don't need his charity, he can just…"

Finally seeming to realize how uncomfortable the scene was becoming, Mr. Weasley stepped in and held out his hand to Mr. Dursley.

"Please let me introduce myself, I am Ron's father, Arthur Weasley. I am incredibly sorry for my son's regrettable attitude. I assure you – he has written home many times expressing his regret for injuring your nephew. Why that has suddenly eluded him here, I have no idea."

"Really? Sorry, now, is he? Sorry that he's put an additional burden on our whole family by returning a boy we sent to your kind's school whole and intact, as a worthless cripple. There's no telling how much in medical expenses we'll have to deal with this summer. Not to mention the special modifications he'll need made to his room. Can't very well be walking up and down stairs in his condition can he? How is he going to pull his own weight? Like any boy his age, he has things he's expected to do around the house. Is your son going to come over and do his chores for him? Mow the lawn? Rake the yard? Do the gardening? Paint the tool shed? No. The boy can't do them or his other chores anymore. He's useless now, and those things are bloody expensive to hire out. And, what about when he's grown and can't get a job? Are we supposed to take care of him the rest of his life? Is my Dudder's supposed to throw his life away to care for this little fre--- the boy. I won't have it, but have I heard a single thing about recompense for his injuries? Payment to the family for damages? Not one word, and now, I hear you work for the Minister. We'll see about that. They have barristers in your world don't they? Mr. Malfoy, could you help me find competent legal help to see to it that we've been set to rights."

Harry could hardly breath by the time Mr. Dursley had finished. When he glanced up, Lady Malfoy was wearing a clear look of disgust and Lord Malfoy was studying his wand idly in a way that almost looked amused but in the same way that Professor Snape was trying to teach them to look when they were perturbed or outright angry. Glancing around at Draco, Harry winced at his friend's aghast expression: an expression that was mirrored on almost all of the Weasley's faces – with two exceptions: Ron and the little girl, who must have been his younger sister Ginny. On Ron's, there was a dawning horror at the realization that his actions could have caused such terrible injuries, and what they might mean for Harry. Ginny's, however, wasn't touched by her brother's horror at the ramifications of his rash behavior earlier in the year or with her parent's and family's astonished painful embarrassment at the obvious greedy display that his uncle was putting on when it must have been obvious to them that he hadn't even shown up in the infirmary to check on Harry's condition. (They'd been there. The Malfoy's had been there. Harry's aunt and uncle hadn't even sent a reply to the owls they'd received, informing them of Harry's accidents.) Instead, Ginny's face was suffused to a heated salmon pink with anger- directed not at Mr. Dursley, though, but at Harry himself.

As if his anxiety couldn't go up any higher, Lord Malfoy finally responded.

"Yes, Mr. Dursley, I know several, and have a close friend who's a doctor, quite popular, but he'll always make room for me. He can give Harry a thorough check up and prepare a thorough report for the wizengamot."

"A full – Wha- why- why would they need a full checkup?" Dursley stuttered as Harry began to wonder whether it was normal for the edges of your vision to go grey.


	16. Chapter 16

Uneasy Pleasantries

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

"_And Ahhsitha?" Harry's voice quivered slightly with worry._  
"_Yes, and Ahhsitha! Of course, I'll look out for your two thousand year  
old, twenty-nine yard long basilisk and make certain she doesn't come  
to harm over the summer." Severus would have found his response  
humorous if the child wasn't looking up at his with such glowing trust._  
"_And, you'll write every day?"_

"_Yes, you have the journal. All that you will need to do is  
moisten your finger with saliva and touch whatever page you want  
to write on. I have the duplicate, right here in my pocket. As soon as ink  
touches your page, the duplicate will resize incrementally until  
I am able to read what you've written."_

"_And, you'll really write back?" _

**Uneasy Pleasantries**

"You may begin," Narcissa instructed the three boys quietly as she studied Harry and his muggle cousin.

While young Harry was diligently focusing on the assignment that she had set for them, his behemoth cousin could not manage to keep his squinting piggish eyes on his paper for more than ten seconds at a time. Instead the little oaf was staring at his cousin with a vague mixture of anxiety and malice tainting his pasty, sagging expression. Seeming to have no concept of subtlety the little brute was alternately attempting to catch Harry's gaze with a look of clumsy intimidation and watching his cousin with trepidation for the slightest untoward gesture that would no doubt send him into a lather.

"Mr. Dursley, may I speak with you a moment?"

"Uhhh. Yeah," The boy grunted piggishly still keeping his eyes anchored on his cousin.

Stepping to the door, Narcissa waited for the boy to follow… and …. waited, but the boy simply sat at the table, staring at his cousin but barely registering her presence with an occasional blank look. _And __**this **__was the child that the simpering muggles doted on?_

After glancing up at her with a barely concealed smirk, Draco brushed his fingers over his friend's writing hand to catch Harry's attention then flicked his fingers toward the bloated boy still sitting on the other side of him. When Harry glanced at his cousin, Narcissa was surprised to see him wince and pale before glancing quickly up at her then back to his cousin. For a moment, it seemed as though he were trying to gather his nerve before he turned to his cousin and whispered, "Dudley, Lady Malfoy would like to speak with you."

"I heard her, you stupid frea—." Narcissa nearly laughed Dudley broke off after apparently realizing that whatever he had been planning to say would have insulted Narcissa and Draco as well.

"Mr. Dursley?"

"Yeah, what?" the dim child asked.

"Dud, she wants to speak with you, privately."

"Then you two had better sod off and let us talk, hadn't you?" the little cretin retorted, seeming completely unaware of even the most basic courtesy due an adult, much less one of Narcissa's stature, who was being gracious enough to stoop to teaching him.

"Dud!" Harry's vivid green eyes shot toward Narcissa with an abject expression of apology, clearly embarrassed by his cousin use of such coarse language in mixed company. If it weren't for her desire to help Draco's little friend, Narcissa suspected that she would have hexed the little ape until he bowed and scraped as politely as a house elf. She was putting up with the little toad for Harry's sake, however, so returned an understanding smile then softened the tone she would have used into a mildly questioning lilt and asked the dunce far more politely than he deserved, "Won't you join me for a walk?"

* * *

Suppressing a nervous twinge at the rasp of Ahhsitha's scales sliding across the chamber of secret's cool stone floor, Severus paused until he was certain his voice would be immune to the apprehension he felt at the ancient snake's approach and greeted her as Salazar's portrait had instructed. 

"Greetings, Great Lady." Severus hissed confidently.

Between his time with Harry and Salazar's portrait having a resurge of interest in teaching him to speak parsletongue, after learning that the basilisk was willing to converse with the castle's inhabitants again, Severus was rapidly gaining fluency with the obscure language and was increasingly able to hold conversations with her unaided though Salazar's portrait remained on hand to provide assistance when necessary.

"Greetings poison maker, I scent no venom on your fangs this morn." She teased, reminding him of the last time that they had spoken without Harry being present just before Harry's accident at the Malfoy's on Christmas Day, when Severus had apparated back to the castle – so angry with the basilisk for allowing Harry to harvest her venom as a Christmas gift for him that he had unintentionally torn through the anti-apparition wards surrounding Hogwart's property.

With a surge of magic that startled even the headmaster, Severus had apparated directly to her side and rained a slew of imprecations and threats down on her so venomous that even Salazar's portrait looked faintly scandalized by the time that the panicked Headmaster arrived, courtesy of Fawkes' magic. Once Fawkes had trilled Severus back to calmness and after an awkward explanation to the Headmaster regarding why Severus, Fawkes and Salazar's portrait had withheld their knowledge of Ahhsitha's presence – and another extended conversation to verify Ahhsitha's good intentions toward Hogwarts, its staff, and its student body), the headmaster admitted that he found the whole event quite amusing as it finally answered his long time question of whether there was anyone or anything too daunting for Severus when he was in full rant. Apparently, discovering Severus ranting full out at a two thousand year old basilisk was what it took to convince Dumbledore that no one was immune from Professor Snape's wrath when the mood took hold.

* * *

"Mr. Dursley," Narcissa began gently, "You seem to be having some difficulty concentrating on your assignment. May I ask why?" 

After giving the dolt a suitable distraction, Narcissa silently cast '_legillimens'_ as she slipped into his grubby mind. A brief experiment at the beginning of the summer had been enough to show her that she could easily enter his mind, but had not given her a clear idea of the utter rot that populated his mind. A true product of his mother's simpering favoritism and his father's poorly managed temperament, Dudley Dursley cared for little outside his own immediate happiness and saw those around him, including his family, as little more than means to achieve that happiness. This was particularly true for his perception of his cousin, the fat brute viewed little Harry as equivalent to his own personal house elf; in the vile boy's mind, everything that Harry possessed - from Harry's clothing to the food he ate and… the _cupboard_ he slept in – belonged to Dudley, was made for his pleasure, and should only be used toward his pleasure. Further, as far as Dudley was concerned, any failure in delivering his immediate satisfaction was unforgivable and could only be accommodated if Dudley had the personal pleasure of watching his discontent being taken out on his cousin's frail form.

Barely restraining the impulse to hex the fat little as she came to the previous evening's memory, Narcissa felt her sense of self-restraint stretched to its furthest. The evening before had resulted in Harry's near torture by the repulsive creatures that Dumbledore had the idiocy to grant little Harry's custody to – after the child had seemingly overturned a ludicrously decorated trifle into the hair of a potential client's wife. Though he act was far out of Harry's normal behavior, if the child had in fact behaved so brazenly, even Narcissa would have granted that the Dursleys would have had some marginal right to punish the child - though certainly not to the point of burning the child so severely that he lost consciousness.

Several facts stood out, however, that made Narcissa certain that punishment of any sort was completely unwarranted. First, the trifle had seemed to float steadily and rather swiftly toward the Dursley's guest – quite beyond the normal skill and quality of Harry's wingardium leviosa. Second, Harry had not been in possession of his wand – and wandless magic of this type was quite sufficiently removed from the general nature of Harry's wish magic, which to all reports focused on affecting his own physical being in one form or other. In short, it was quite unlikely that Harry would be capable of that level for several years at the very least. Third, Harry's expression had been one of anxious entreaty as he split his attentions between the trifle and someone seeming to stand in the kitchen, beyond Dudley's vision.

Convinced without question that neither her son, her husband, nor their close friend, Severus, was the instigator of the beating and torture that followed – Narcissa was immediately certain of two items – first, Harry was in immediate danger and second, the child could not remain in the custody of his relatives even a moment longer. In fact, the only question that remained in her mind was why Harry had not immediately brought the event to her attention.

* * *

Enjoying the potion master's awkward shifting a moment more, Ahhsitha regarded the poison maker with amusement. After nearly twelve centuries of isolation and detached (thereby increasingly onerous) duty, it had been an odd recognition for her that once the young speaker revived that portion of her rarely used heart – its affiliation and affection had quickly extended to the poison maker. Beyond the treatment that the poison maker had shown her young speaker, many qualities recommended him to her. 

For a human, his scent was pleasant to her and calming, unlike the scents of the castle's other inhabitants, whose scents filled Ahhsitha with the restless desire to hunt. His display of anger and venom when he last appeared to her, alone, had been impressive. There were very few things in existence that troubled her: the centaurs with their poisoned bows, the acromantula nests, and the thoughts of being again trapped in the tight enclosed spaces of the castle. Barring those – she had believed that nothing else could cause her true anxiety until she felt the snap of his magic depositing him beside her and the waves of anger rolling off of him – putting to end her apparently unfounded belief that humans in general and wizards in particular had little facility for experiencing and expressing strong emotions. His scent that day, unknown to him, had spoken volumes of his rage, fear, and worry – demonstrating better than anything else could that he shared an understanding of what being a guardian was – an understanding that had been lacking in the last dozen speakers, who had stumbled her way before the little speaker came to Hogwarts. It was even quite pleasing to her when she scented traces of her own venom in his clothing, evidence that he was already making use of the gift she had helped the young speaker give him.

"Yes," Severus agreed cautiously as he remembered the rank fool he had made of himself by popping like a house elf back to the castle to scold the unutterably dangerous creature for allowing herself to be swayed into helping Harry with his stunning Christmas gift. The thought of the dangers he had gone through to gather it troubled Severus even in the present; though, he winced as he remembered his reception Harry's gift of two petrified acromantula's eggs filled to the cap with Basilisk venom – enough venom that if he had desired to sell it, Severus would have had sufficient funds to purchase the entire United Kingdom, four times over, or – alternately- the heritage rights and title of an ancient and noble house. Despite the avaricious gleam in Lucius's eyes, Severus had no intention of selling it, however, there were far too many unidentified and uncaptured death eaters remaining to ever chance releasing such an amount of venom onto the open market – without guaranteeing that the giver of the gift would receive its returns in tragic fashion. That was only one of the thoughts running through his mind as he had regrettably turned on Harry and harshly berated the child for taking such an insane risks.

Even with Ahhsitha practically crawling in the child's lap like a familiar, collecting basilisk venom was a complex task that had ended the lives of numerous potion collectors. The hazards involved were almost too numerous to count. To begin with, the only material that could contain undiluted basilisk venom was the fragile, petrified acromantula silk sack that surrounded the tree dwelling spider's eggs. While Ahhsitha had undoubtedly petrified the two large acromantula eggs (that the child had procured in perhaps his first truly Slythern deception – as a Christmas gift – for Ahhsitha), she could not have removed the still living larval spiders without destroying the eggs. That task had been left instead to Harry, who had by some means simply coaxed the creatures out and into Hagrids care to be added to Aragog's nest.

Then, even with Ahhsitha's cooperation, filling the eggs was an incredibly dangerous prospect as even a fifth of a dram on the skin was sufficient to kill an adult wizard of above average height and weight. Had a drip of it touched the child's skin, Harry would have been dead before the portrait could have summoned anyone's assistance. Even once the petrified eggs had been filled and sealed, it was not unknown for the delicate containers to crack and leak. More than a few experienced professionals had died due to leaking containers. Yet, the child had completed the task entirely without assistance then he carried the extremely fragile gifts with him to the Malfoy's, by floo no less, without given even his hosts notice until Severus had opened the delicately wrapped presents and nearly dropped them in shock before rounding on the child.

"Poison maker?" Ahhsitha questioned his silence as his scent suggested that his mood had suddenly become disturbed with some inner turmoil. Having no exposure to humans of any type wallowing in guilt, she could not draw the connection between the comments on the professor's mood that day and the little speaker's fall later that night. Severus, himself, wasn't even certain whether there was one, but the question over whether Harry had been distracted due to the potion master's comments when he fell still plagued Severus over sixth months later. He was no closer to an answer now than he had been then and shook himself back to the present to avoid further contemplation of the question.

* * *

"Harry, may I have a word with you?" Narcissa inquired quietly as gestured for Dudley to return to his seat.

* * *

"How goes the endless hunt?" Ahhsitha asked in the odd parsletongue way of asking how the day was passing. 

"Shady, smooth, and full of meat, Great lady. Thank you for asking. Have you eaten well?"

"Sadly, no." She confided, "I let a spot of the sky's heat lure me into the open where prey could see and scent me.

"Ah." He replied, understanding easily. After being confined for centuries in the castle's cold recesses, it was only natural to expect that the cold-blooded creature would be tantalized by the sunlight.

"Harry's gift may be coming at a sharp-sighted moment then."

With a sweep of his wand, Severus summoned the small pile of acromantula eggs that he had ordered on Harry's behalf.

"More eggs?" Ahhsitha asked with excitement, before she continued, with a humorous lilt to her hissing, "Your nestling must question the sting of my venom to hunt for me so often."

"No, he savors your enjoyment of what he can give." Severus responded with a sigh and a bemused smile. Despite Lucius's lessons favoring politically motivated gift giving, Harry had spent days selecting gifts that he believed the recipient would truly enjoy over the gifts that the recipients would draw discussion and spread the giver's reputation. The discrepancy had been so apparent that Lucius had even been slightly miffed with the boy's choices, until Narcissa had complimented Harry on choosing gifts that witches and wizards would find so pleasing as to keep them always present and visible instead of tucked away as many of Lucius's gifts often were after the season ended.

"Odd little nestling, does he not understand that his guardians are to see to his hungers, not the reverse?" Ahhsitha hissed in what might have been a sighed complaint before descending on the gift with relish.

* * *

Following Narcissa into an empty office several doors down from their study room in Grunnings' executive suite, Harry waited quietly for Narcissa to cast the customary privacy and silencing spells before she turned back to him. Even though she was studying him expectantly when she turned, he remained quiet – suspecting what she wanted to discuss, but afraid to speak before he was asked in case he was wrong. 

Slipping into his thoughts, with the same gentle subtlety that she used to read Severus and Lucius unnoticed, Narcissa quickly came upon Dobby's visit and the reason behind it. Of course, the elf would have to be seen to, and her husband's plans changed; but that was a change that Narcissa would have preferred even without this occurrence. Prior to his fall, even as an adult, though charismatic, the Dark Lord had been prone to making rash – unpredictable decisions. The thought of restoring him as an impulsive, potentially volatile teen to a era that marked his fall with celebration, had seemed far from a sound idea when her sister brought the plan to Lucius's attention. Her husband, however, had been imprudently persuaded by the prospect of swaying several of his former cadre to his influence once more. Perhaps, should Dobby survive, his actions might merit a reward of some sort for bringing the change about, but first and more important, the child needed to be distracted to other questions…

"Harry, I thought Lucius was quite clear when he explained that our arrangement with Grunnings was set up for the sole purpose of documenting any and all mistreatment that you may have received at the hands of your relatives. Was he not?"

"Yes, Ma'am." The child answered in anxious tones, paling beneath her knowing gaze.

"Then, may I ask why you chose to withhold notice of how they mistreated you last night?"

"I-I c-can-n't ex-pla-in." Harry stammered as he ducked his eyes and flushed with shame.

"Your manner suggests that quite the opposite is true. When we are willing to put ourselves to inconvenience at your behest, I must say that it quite surprises me to find you will not do the same." Narcissa murmured in falsely disappointed tones. Frankly, she would have been pleased with the child's reserve, if the abuse had not been so extreme. Given what she had seen, however, she began to wonder whether he even had the ability to discern that his treatment had been extreme, or whether he was too damaged to recognize that it was even worth reporting.

* * *

"Does he not understand that his guardians are to see to his hungers, not the reverse?" 

Severus considered Ahhsitha's question quietly, having several times wondered a very similar question himself. _Had he intervened in time, or had the Dursleys damaged the Harry too deeply for him to truly understand that he should be taken care of, protected, and cherished? And, if so, for Severus suspected that they had, was damage permanent?"_

Though he had no way of knowing it, at that moment, both he and Narcissa had reached the same question: 'Given their treatment of Harry, what justice did the Dursley's deserve, in turn?"


	17. Chapter 17

Tiniest Wish: Minor Adjustments

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

"_Harry, I thought Lucius was quite clear when he explained that our  
arrangement with Grunnings was set up for the sole purpose of  
documenting any and all mistreatment that you may have received  
at the hands of your relatives. Was he not?"_

"_Yes, Ma'am." The child answered in anxious tones,  
paling beneath her knowing gaze. _

"_Then, may I ask why you chose to withhold notice of  
how they mistreated you last night?" _

"_I-I c-can-n't ex-pla-in." Harry stammered as  
he ducked his eyes and flushed with shame. _

"_Your manner suggests that quite the opposite is true. When we are  
willing to put ourselves to inconvenience at your behest, I must  
say that it quite surprises me to find you will not do the same."  
Narcissa murmured in falsely disappointed tones. Frankly, she  
would have been pleased with the child's reserve, if the abuse had  
not been so extreme. Given what she had seen, however, she began to  
wonder whether he even had the ability to discern that his treatment  
had been extreme, or whether he was too damaged to recognize  
that it was even worth reporting._

**Minor Adjustments**,

"My question was hardly that complex, Harry. Would you care to explain why you find it difficult to cooperate with efforts to secure your wellbeing?" Narcissa smiled as his barely-concealed anxiety slipped away into an expression of furious thought. Slipping quietly in behind his preoccupation, Narcissa watched the child's mind work with camouflaged amusement. Harry really did have a very quick and agile mind; it was almost a wonder that he was second behind Draco in all of their classes, though Narcissa well-suspected that it was yet another sign of Harry's deference to Draco – and therefore acceptable for the present.

Watching him swiftly analyze and set aside several prudent but obvious lies, Narcissa almost laughed when he finally came upon the simplest and least costly option, given the behaviors and traits that he had noticed in her husband and herself.

"Ma'am, I was… encouraged to believe that you would not permit Draco to maintain friendships with someone who was pitiably weaker – someone who would need to be saved…particularly, someone who could not even protect himself from a muggle." Harry answered Narcissa frankly and honestly, not realizing that she had already run across Little Miss Bullstrode's lectures.

While Narcissa certainly understood the pressure that the child was under, the hopelessly blunt girl was going about her pursuit of Harry in quite a heavy handed manner… and Narcissa suspected, would continue to do so until her situation were rectified. That certainly would not do at all. Miss Bullstrode's heavy-handed manipulations were hardly indicators of a promising future as a hostess…while Little Harry was proving himself an asset even in his silences and deferments, and Draco's attachment to the waiflike boy was as fierce as the patronage that Lucius once bestowed on Severus. In other words, having secured Pansy Parkinson as her son's future intended, it seemed that it would fall to her to secure his best friend's as well. Thankfully, she still possessed several files of lucrative information on the families of several prospective candidates.

"Ma'am?" his voice quavered in concern, drawing Narcissa out of her rapid planning.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Is it true, Ma'am? Did I lose Draco because I screwed things up?"

Putting on a seriously contemplative expression, Narcissa paused several seconds as she carefully withdrew from his anxious mind and gave the intentional impression that she was weighing the merits of his comment against the merits of his friendship. When he began to shift nervously from foot to foot, she finally decided that she had tortured him enough.

"Well, Harry. Had you been an adult wizard, imbued with all of your potential powers, legally able to use your magic, and trained in doing so, and dealing with a stranger… then, perhaps we would have qualms about your association, but that is hardly the situation. You are, to put it bluntly, a child, an under age wizard, legally bound and prevented from using your magic, without the benefit of your magical inheritance, and outweighed by your adult uncle by at least two hundred pounds. Harry, that is hardly pitiably weaker, in fact, you reserve would be laudable if the situation were not so severely stacked against you. You have not jeopardized your friendship with Draco in the slightest."

"Really?" Harry's exuberance returned to his eyes as he made an abortive move to hug her.

"Truly," She smiled smugly in response as she opened her arms to him and was hugged again. His foolish, simpering, muggle aunt simply had no idea what she was missing in the boy's affection and never would if Narcissa had her way. Before releasing him from the hug, she dipped her chin to press a quick kiss into his hair and chuckled when he stilled in surprise.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What was that?" His tone was pitifully hopeful as if he knew but couldn't believe that she would have stooped to kiss him.

"An affectionate kiss, Harry, Dear. Draco has already lectured me about not kissing him in public, so I'll promise you the same. No motherly kisses in public, but you're fair game when we are out of the public eye, as we are now." As she finished, Narcissa dipped her head to press a second kiss into his crown, before releasing him, and smiled sadly when he stood on his tiptoes – seeming to hold his breath in anticipation.

"Yes, Ma'am, b-but… I-I d-don't mind… I mean I wouldn't mind if you … you know."

Mrs. Dursley was rapidly moving to the top of Narcissa's to do list, and Narcissa knew quite exactly how to bring the bint down to the level she deserved – without causing any spectacle or blame for Harry to suffer.

"Thank you, Harry, Dear. Now, you do realize that you were behaving inappropriately when you withheld notice of your uncles' mistreatment, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then, need not discuss the matter further; however, there is the matter of punishment. Respectable young men should always be held accountable for their actions, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Ma'am." The child offered without a trace of reluctance or hesitation.

"You can see, then, I am sure that your behavior can not go unaddressed."

"No, Ma'am… I … No, it shouldn't, Ma'am."

"Good, then. We seem to be in agreement. How does Severus punish you when you misbehave?"

"Ma'am?" His confused expression surprised Narcissa until she realized that the child had, apparently, never misbehaved for Severus. Well, that was hardly all that surprising, was it?

"How does he punish someone in your house when they misbehave?" She rephrased the question with an encouraging smile.

"He takes points, makes them write lines, and gives them a detention."

"Very well, after you have finished your exercises, while you are waiting for your cousin to catch up, you will write "I will not take second hand information as fact" two hundred times. Additionally, when your Aunt comes to pick your cousin up, I will explain that you have detention…" she held up her hand when he paled and seemed ready to protest, and continued clarifying, "for not finishing your exercises as adroitly as your cousin and that you will be staying to complete them so that you will not hold Draco or your cousin up tomorrow, and we will take you home when you have finished. Will that be acceptable?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but…"

"Yes?"

"That wouldn't be proper punishment, Ma'am. I like to stay, I mean.'

"Thank you, but I assure you, I can think of a number of activities that will quell even the slightest thought of future misbehavior on your part – a fact that I am sure Draco can attest to. For instance, have you received any instruction in dancing?"

"N-n-n-o,"

"Dance it is, then. It won't be difficult at all to transfigure your current attire into tights and a singlet, but the shoes might be a little trickier. Perhaps, Draco can loan you one of his pair until we can have a set made for you."

"Tights? A singlet?"

"For ballet, Harry."

"But, I thought you meant ballroom, like the waltz or minuet."

"Ballet is a precursor to ballroom dancing. You will find the Schottische and the fox trot much easier to learn if you have first developed the proper balance and form."

"Oh…" he gulped softly, "Okay. Draco's learned, then? The same way?" He asked plaintively.

"Yes, but even if he had not…"

"I understand, it's my detention."

"Quite. I'll let you get back to your studies then, but before you go do you happen to have the journal that Severus gave you to keep in touch with him?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"May I borrow it for a moment?"

"Of course," he answered quickly, though she could see, without needing to read him that he was reluctant to give up his link to Severus.

"Just for a few moments, that's all. I would like to request that a few potions."

Nodding abruptly, he pulled the journal out of his pocket and pressed it into her hands then rushed back to the make shift classroom, pausing only once to look back at the book in her hands with an expression mournful longing as though he never expected to see it again.


	18. Chapter 18

Tiniest Wish: En Tournant, (part 18).

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

"_Very well, after you have finished your exercises, while you are waiting for your  
cousin to catch up, you will write "I will not take second hand information as fact"  
two hundred times. Additionally, when your Aunt comes to pick your cousin up,  
I will explain that you have detention…" she held up her hand when he paled and  
seemed ready to protest, and continued clarifying, "for not finishing your exercises  
as adroitly as your cousin and that you will be staying to complete them so that you will  
not hold Draco or your cousin up tomorrow, and we will take you home when you  
have finished. Will that be acceptable?"_

"_Yes, Ma'am, but…"_

"_Yes?"_

"_That wouldn't be proper punishment, Ma'am. I'd like to stay, I mean.'_

"_Thank you, but I assure you, I can think of a number of activities that will quell  
even the slightest thought of future misbehavior on your part – a fact that I am sure  
Draco can attest to. For instance, have you received any instruction in dancing?"_

**En Tournant.**

Lucius smirked at Narcissa over Draco's and Harry's heads as they reluctantly went to Draco's room to change.

"If you would like to assist in their lessons, Dearest, I can certainly summon Dobby with your uniform." Narcissa threatened lightly. While Lucius still practiced the art that had been drilled into him throughout his youth, he preferred to withhold that fact.

"No, My Fairest, there is no need to take Dobby away from whatever task you have him working on. I'm certain there will be many opportunities to coach their form; however, I believe there was an errand you wished me to handle with Severus."

"Yes, of course, how sweet of you to offer." Narcissa favored him with a humorous smile. His vanity was really quite amusing to her, at times. She knew that he still enjoyed their practice sessions and was often even playful as they practiced Le Corsaire Pas de Deux. His ego certainly enjoyed the benefits that ballet affected on his frame, grace, posture, and the admiration from others for his regal appearance, but with all that, his ego still quailed at allowing his son to perceive him as anything other than a bastion of masculinity. Thinning her smile before he realized he was being mocked, even lovingly, she continued, "If you would pick up a small package of potions from him this evening, bring him up to date on the Dursley's behavior, and while you are their, you might take the opportunity to discuss the matter that I mentioned."

"Narcissa…" he sighed, wondering if he would be better off swallowing his pride and summoning his uniform to help with the boys. "Severus is a confirmed bachelor and hardly the parental model, even if Harry trusts him implicitly."

"The first can be remedied easily and the second Harry is already changing. Do you not remember how well the got on at Christmas?"

"I remember Severus shrieking at Harry then disappearing on some foolish errand after the boy gave him the two basilisk eggs. Several Fortune's worth, and he did not even take the time to thank the child." Lucius muttered only vaguely disguising his jealousy. The child's gift to him had been perfectly acceptable, appropriate, and quite in line with the lectures in political gift giving that he had passed on to the child, but then the naïve child had turned around and given Severus a gift that would have made the Gringott's head goblin drool.

"Exactly, he chastised Harry for endangering his life over something as trivial as a gift and rushed off to take someone to task for allowing Harry to take such a risk. The headmaster, I would imagine. Exactly as any parent would have."

"Now, Narcissa…"

"Yes?" Lucius barely kept from cringing at the icy tone in his wife's voice. Already a quick-tempered witch, Narcissa was barely her restraining her ire regarding the Dursleys, who couldn't be touched until the matter of Harry's custody was settled, and would be rather viscous, even with him, if he pushed her temper, too far.

"Who do you have in mind for Severus?" He asked switching tactics quickly. If Narcissa meant to see Severus married, the betrothal announcements would most likely go out before the end of the year, regardless of what either he or Severus had to say about it.

Pressing his ear to the door, Draco waived a shushing hand at Harry who was struggling to pull his singlet's tabbed panels further down over his tights. When his parent's voices drifted off, he glanced back at his small friend and smirked.

"Give it up, Harry; it won't go any lower."

"But, it's showing my bits."

"Not with the dance belt, but don't worry - it's something you'll get used to pretty quick. You'll never guess what I just heard."

"Draco!" Harry scowled slightly, "You shouldn't listen in on your mom and dad. What if you got caught?"

"Oh, Mother would just give me more dance practice for eavesdropping when there is no reason to believe that the situation warrants it. Now, do you want to hear what they were talking about?"

"No." Harry retorted softly, still not quite able to believe that Mrs. Malfoy would approve of eavesdropping under any circumstances.

"It's about Uncle Severus." Draco teased lightly and grinned as his friend chewed his lip uncertainly, obviously wanting to know, but still a little too uptight – thanks to those stupid muggles to give in and admit that he did.

Taking pity on Harry, he blurted out, "Mother's going to get Uncle Severus married."

"What?!? I didn't know Professor Snape was going to get married."

"He probably doesn't either, but Mother's already picking out 'likely candidates'."

"But, what if he doesn't want to get married? What if he doesn't like who she picks out?"

"He will." Draco's response sounded so smug and all knowing that Harry had no idea what to say that wouldn't insult his friend or imply that his mom was meddling.

"Do you have both belts on?" Draco suddenly asked, changing subjects as why his mother might be trying to get his godfather married after so many years finally occurred to him.

"Uhh. Yeah, just like you showed me." Harry answered with a blush.

"Good. Let's get out there before she decides to come in and get us."

"Boys…" Narcissa paused at the door, surprised to see them already heading towards the door.

Narcissa smiled at Harry's blushing discomfiture, but allowed them walk ahead of her as Draco lead the way to their studio. After studying Little Harry's stride and posture, Narcissa complimented herself on coming up with ballet practice as the child's detention. The child shuffled across the floor like a common drudge, and his posture was simply atrocious from having to cow and scrape to those repulsive creatures that Dumbledore had settled him with. Well, she would soon see that set to rights - on several counts, and a note to Severus was just the place to start. Motioning for them to head to the barre, Narcissa asked Draco to show Harry the beginning arm and foot positions, then pulled Harry's journal out of her pocket, moistened a finger tip and drew it across the top of the page.

"_**What is it Narcissa?" **_scrolled across the page in dark impatient letters.

"_You certainly answered quickly." _She commented with amusement.

"_**Narcissa! I am certain you realize that you are writing in a journal that I gave Harry to contact me with expediency, otherwise you would have simply owled your request." **_

"_Unless I wished to be certain that the missive was kept private." _

"_**If it is going to be a necessity for you to contact me so frequently, I will remit a charmed parchment by your husband. The journal is solely for Harry's use – except in emergency."**_

Narcissa smiled broadly as she read his terse responses. If there had been any further proof that she needed to convince her that he would have been an appropriate parent for Harry, his tense protectiveness of Harry's journal would have provided it.

"_I'll await the parchment, then." _

"_**Don't be ridiculous, Narcissa. What do you want?"**_

"_I was simply curious whether you have discussed ballet lessons with Madame Pomfrey to improve Harry's posture and carriage?"_

"_**It was discussed."**_

"_To what conclusion." _

"_**Providing his course of potions has the desired effect on the rehabilitation of his spine, when he returns I will offer the basic instruction and limited strength training... if he chooses. Why do you ask? "**_

"_Simply an observation?" _

"_**Narcissa, this is twice in one day that you're contacting me with seemingly trivial matters. What aren't you telling me?"**_

"_Lucius will explain when he arrives. I really should get back to the boys. Draco has almost finished demonstrating the basic positions."_

"_**NARCISSA…"**_ Grinning as Severus's response flared across the page, Narcissa cast a light charm to protect their discussion … at least until Harry could read it, then turned back to the boys. Smiling encouragingly at her son, who had stepped back to coach his friend, she laid the journal on the piano lid, drew her wand, and cast a soft metronome spell.


	19. Chapter 19

Tiniest Wish: En Tournant Pionte, (part 19).

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

_Taking pity on Harry, Draco blurted out,_  
"_Mother's going to get Uncle Severus married."_

"_What?!? I didn't know Professor Snape was going to get married."_  
"_He probably doesn't either, but Mother's already picking out_  
'_likely candidates'."_

"_But, what if he doesn't want to get married?  
What if he doesn't like who she picks out?"_

"_He will." Draco's response sounded so smug and all knowing  
that Harry had no idea what to say that wouldn't insult his friend or  
imply that his mom was meddling._

**En Tournant ****Pionte, **

"Now in fifth, demi plie – un, deux, and elevé and hold. Harry, Dear, do turn out more. You are not practicing dressage."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry answered on a wispy breath.

"Yes, yes, that is much better. Return to fifth position. Plie. Draco, Dearest, do soften that elbow and mind your extension."

"Yes, Mother."

"Yes, that's it. That's it. Excellent. You are both doing so well. I can not wait until Severus sees you at the barre. I bet the both of you ice cream sundaes from Flortescues, when you come home next that, he actually cracks a smile."

"Professor Snape smiles." Harry protested as he broke stance and turned on Narcissa.

"Harry!" Draco whispered as he rolled his eyes at his mother. He'd had no doubt that Harry would jump to their professor's defense and the little games that his mother was playing were really quite unnecessary. His mother didn't need to prove to his uncle Severus that Harry cared about him. Draco and his godfather had already discussed the fact that Harry was far too dependent on their approval precisely because he cared so deeply for them and was afraid of risking their displeasure on the merest possibility that they might turn away from him. "Mom knows that. She was just saying that he doesn't do it often."

"He does too!" Harry turned back on his friend crossing his arms defensively.

Harry absolutely hated disagreeing with Draco on anything, but he just couldn't let them talk about … his head of house like he wasn't a pleasant person. After all, everyone didn't go around shining like silk and sunshine, but that didn't mean that something was wrong with them. Still, he winced, realizing that it was rude of him to chastise them for talking about the professor when he was Draco's godfather- essentially family, and Harry had learned quite long ago from watching the Dursleys that family could say things about each other that outsiders, like him, had no right to take notice of, much less fuss about.

As he realized how far he'd slipped from proper decorum, Harry chewed his lip anxiously as he tried to think up a proper apology, until soft voice carried across the room and saved him the necessity.

"Perhaps, you are simply more adept at recognizing my smiles, such as they are, Child."

"PROFESSOR!" Harry screamed as he whirled and ran to greet the Potions Master who was had just arrived; all thoughts of decorum and propriety having evaporated as surely as if they had never existed.

"Harry." Professor Snape replied with a soft smile when he crouched to lift the boy to his hip as if he were a much younger child - bringing a small, knowing smile to Narcissa's face as she turned to welcome her husband.

Lucius suspected that he would be facing months of his wife's smug smiles and jousts, but that was much preferred to the alternative – of admitting that not only was he fully aware of the child's influence over both his old friend and his son, but more than that, he was investing a great deal of time in the boy precisely for that very reason. Oh, there were other advantages that came with mentoring the child, including the fact that it kept his wife distracted from his other projects – several of which he was subtly funding from Grunning's discretionary accounts that falsely appeared to be under Vernon Dursley's control.

Under other circumstances, he might have taken more care to hide the paper trail leading back to Dursley, but as he watched his friend greet the child, he felt no remorse over the tainted trail that he aimed directly back at the loathsome muggle. Harry was, generally, acceptable – as far as children went: well-behaved, attentive, malleable, and appreciative of even the of the slightest of gestures. If the muggle had treated him with even the smallest of considerations, he would have had, without doubt, easy access to the greatest pleasures that could have been secured in the wizarding world – the child would have seen to that. The child's priceless gift to Severus at Christmas was certainly proof of that fact.

Over the niggling of jealously that he had felt at the gift, Lucius could look back on it more objectively, having spent much of the summer observing the child. Severus was neither a particularly kind not jovial man – in most instances, and certainly could never be described as doting – under any circumstances; however, unlike most children – including his own son, Draco – Harry did not seem to expect or require such coddling. Instead, the child appreciated Severus's most subdued expressions as though they were beaming approbations and his briefest silence as the most severe of verdicts. In fact, Lucious was quite certain that a nod of Severus's head would persuade Harry to any act.

And all won, as far as Lucius could see, with by Severus's mere performance of his duties.

During the Christmas break, Lucius had even made time to meet with several soon-to- graduate seventh years under the guise of interviewing them as candidates to any of his family's many business investments. To a one, under his careful legillimency, they had confirmed that, outside of the child's an extended stay in the infirmary (most likely due to some disgusting muggle-transmitted illness), Severus had treated him no different than he had any of the other Slytherin first years, much less any other of that years Slytherin Seven. Yet, it had been enough to win the boy's probably-undying loyalty.

Ahhh, if only he had been placed to give the boy such small pittances and reap the benefits, but they would still be his. He was certain of that now, and Narcissa's little parental plot would see to it – for it was becoming abundantly apparent that with Harry came both Severus and Draco… and - he was beginning to suspect – possibly even Narcissa.

Despite her inherently Slytherin nature, he'd recently seen (since she took on the idea of finding Harry 'suitable' parents) an energy in Narcissa that he had not seen in years. Rather than the meaningless society wife that he had dreaded seeing her become, once Draco was off to school, since Christmas, Narcissa had seemed to revive the cunning and vivacity that had first attracted him. In a few short months, she had whittled her way through their social circuits and quickly came to the realization that Severus was the only possible father for the child: having both the necessary social and political connections as well as the magical strength and skill to protect the child on all fronts. The mother she had chosen was a unique choice to say the least, and Lucius was very much looking forward to the moment she announced the 'only logical choice'- quite certain that Harry was not the only one who was to be surprised today as neither Narcissa nor Severus had ever had the opportunity to see the other in a high temper. Lucius, having seen both, wasn't certain, for himself, who would win, but hoped that it was Narcissa – if only for the fact that they would be sharing the same room the remainder of the evening.

Turning his attention back to his family, Lucius smiled softly as he watched his son demonstrate the patterns that Narcissa had been coaching the children through when he and Severus arrived. As Draco finished, Severus carefully shifted the arm holding Harry so that he could clap softly.

"Extremely well done, Draco. Excellent extension and flexibility. Your elbow perhaps could have been softened, in the French style, but you would have satisfied even the most stringent Romanian and Russian instructors with your precise form and technique - so it is more the matter of a trade off."

"You know ballet, Sir?" Harry asked nervously, as if afraid he was asking too personal a question.

"Yes. Narcissa, Lucius, and I had the same instructor, Madam Ballalinka. I studied throughout most of my years at Hogwarts and taught her beginning levels over the summer and while I apprenticed for my Potions Mastery – to make ends meet. She was a harsh task Mistress, but I believe she may have been the only person I have ever known who was able to cower my father."

As Severus explained, Narcissa and Lucius shared a glance acknowledging their surprise that Severus being so open; he had never freely discussed those years even with them.

"Oh." Harry responded softly and chewed his lip softly before leaning into his professor's ear and whispering a question.

"Yes, I have spoken with Madam Pomfrey about the possibility after Narcissa suggested the idea, and she feels that, with several precautions, you would be able to take additional training."

"What about me?" Draco interrupted with a touch of worry or jealousy, Lucius couldn't tell from his son's tone, "Will I have to?"

Glancing down at Draco with an arched eyebrow, Severus reminded, "Perhaps that decision should wait until after quidditch try outs?"

"Oh, right." Draco sighed with relief, ignoring his mother's brief glower as it turned into a slightly mischievous smirk at the professor.

"Severus, I believe there was something you came to discuss with Harry?" Narcissa asked pointedly, and Lucius quickly changed his mind over the outcome. That little comment: the tiny little comment that Draco would and possibly should prefer quidditch to ballet had just insured that Narcissa would not let off until she won this evening. He could easily feel sorry for Severus if matters were not turning so neatly his way.

Nodding gently, Severus turned and watched the child in his arms solemnly before asking, "Harry, may I have a few moments of your time?"

"Of course, Sir." Harry answered quickly with a worried note, before turning to Narcissa and asking to be excused. When she nodded, Harry looked back to the professor expectantly.

"Lucius?"

"I have a wizard space den, just down the hall. There is a house elf waiting to open the door for you." Lucius gestured through the doors with an encouraging smile.

* * *

As the house elf closed the doors behind him with an anxious look at Harry, Harry tried to straighten his singlet as much as possible. He dearly wished that he had his school robes on or even the new set of muggle clothing that his Aunt Petunia bought when she finally realized that she wouldn't be able to talk Lady Malfoy out of tutoring Harry. 

"Harry, there's no need to feel nervous. I simply have a question to ask of you, and you may freely agree to it or reject it without the slightest concern or worry that I will be upset. Okay?"

For some reason, the professor's attempt to calm him and make clear that he wouldn't have to worry about whatever his decision was only made Harry more nervous because it meant that the question had to be important, didn't it. The professor wouldn't have asked for someplace private if it weren't important. Was he afraid that Harry would make a scene?

"Y-ye-s, Sir." Harry stammered out around the teeth that were already biting his lip.

Sighing softly, Severus gently reached out and tapped Harry's lower lip where he had been gnawing it worriedly.

"No, I suspect you don't, but trying to calm you won't make this any easier will it?"

Harry suspected it was a rhetorical question, but shook his head in case it wasn't.

"Very well." The professor paused studying Harry critically until the small Slytherin could barely keep from shifting in his seat.

"Harry, do you remember what you asked the sorting hat your first evening at Hogwarts?"

"Uhhhm…" Harry did. He'd always remember that; he'd been so scared then so happy when the professor seemed to be promising that he wouldn't have to go back. But, was it a promise? He hadn't actually said anything of the sort for all the times that he told Harry that his uncle Vernon was mistaken, and Harry had still had to come back. Things weren't so bad with the Dursley's this summer because of Draco's parents being around to distract them, but .. Was that it? Lady Malfoy had never said why they were tutoring him? Had he not caught up far enough in school then? Or, far enough to stay in school? He remembered from Christmas that the Malfoys were involved in several charities. Was he just another one? Were they only trying to help him because he was Draco's friend and if he didn't improve he wouldn't be able to stay in Draco's dorm anymore?

"Hhhhhifff. I seem to be just making you more nervous." Professor Snape complained softly before turning to the faux hearth behind Lord Malfoy's desk.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Harry," the wizard sighed again, seeming disappointed before he continued his question, "do you remember saying that you didn't want to go back to the Dursleys?"

A tight little knot formed in Harry's throat, constricting his breath, as he realized what his head of house… or former head of house was going to say, but he answered anyway. The professor was already disappointed; there was no reason to make things worse.

"Yes, Sir."

"Harry, what if it were possible? I know that Headmaster Dumbledore explained that you needed to return to your relatives because of the blood wards, but what if it were possible for you to go somewhere else? Live somewhere else? Would you want to?"

"Sir?!?" This wasn't the question that Harry had expected, and he felt a little light headed even hearing it.

"Harry, if there were someone who wished to take you in, someone in the wizarding world, who wished to insure that the remainder of your childhood would be spent in a safe, comfortable, environment, who wished to be certain that all of your needs are not only provided for but met to your greatest wishes… would you be willing to take a chance on him?"

"I do-n't … Sir. I don't und-erstand." Trying as hard as he could, Harry still couldn't understand what the professor meant. Who could want something like that? Just for him? The Malfoys were helping him, but that was because of Draco. Wasn't it? The headmaster had come to visit him a couple of times, but Harry didn't think it was him; the headmaster was the one who said that he had to go back in the first place. If he wanted Harry, he surely wouldn't have done something like that. Would he? The professor was the only one who had ever wanted anything to do with Harry – enough to whisper his house to Harry when he was talking to the sorting hat – enough to argue with Salazar Slytherin's portrait for him. Professor Snape was the only one who….

"Y-you?!?" Harry asked in wonder. Could the professor really want him _that much?_ Even knowing that he was a freak? Something in Harry's voice must have made the professor curious though because he turned back around wearing what Harry thought was almost a tentatively hopeful expression.

"Yes, Harry. Would you allow me to try to adopt you?"

"Sir." Harry gasped and swayed as his legs seemed to give out on him. Of all the curious things to notice, Harry's eyes were transfixed on the rip in the tights that he had borrowed from Draco as it slowly spread upward from the knee that had hit the floor first.

"Harry, Child, are you quite alright?"

Running his finger up the splitting silk, Harry looked up at the professor, and instead of answering his question, said the most absurd thing, "I think I split Draco's tights."

His voice sounded a little giddy to his own ears as he heard it, so he wasn't quite surprised that the professor looked somewhat amused as he knelt beside him, glanced down at the split in the tights, and agreed, "It would appear so."

"Can I buy him some more to replace these?" Harry stared up into the dark amused eyes that waited patiently, seeming to understand why he was focused on something so ridiculous. Daboia would have had a fit by now and called for Draco to sort him out.

"That can be arranged. Are you ready for me to help you up?"

"Yes, Sir." Harry answered almost wistfully, doubting that his jelly legs would hold him up, but shook his head when Professor Snape extended a hand to pull him up.

"Still feeling wobbly then?" The professor asked with an understanding smile.

"No… well, yes, but I meant. Yes, Sir."

"Harry?" It was little wonder, Harry knew, that the professor didn't understand what he was saying when he was answering things out of order.

"Sir, Yes. Could you please try to adopt me?" Harry was old enough to know that there was no guarantee, but that the professor would even want to try was more than he had let himself dream for in the longest time.

Professor Snape watched him quietly for what felt like the longest time, then nodded and turned to join him on the floor with his back to the desk.

"Take your time, and let me know when you are ready to stand, okay?"

"Yes, Sir." Harry began, when another thought struck.

"Sir, does Lady Malfoy know?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Is that why…"

"Why what?" the professor asked with an unbelievable amount of patience for Harry's odd questions.

"Is that why she is looking for candidates for you to marry, Sir?"

"She's _WHAT?"  
_

* * *

_A/N_

_Next update: Harry's first Birthday and the fazoli is about to hit the ceiling for Narcissa and the Dursleys, but Narcissa wasn't sorted into Slytherin for nothing._


	20. Chapter 20

Tiniest Wish: Pas de Deux, Part 20.

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

"_Is that why…"  
_  
"_Why what?" the professor asked with an unbelievable amount  
of patience for Harry's odd questions._

"_Is that why she is looking for candidates for you to marry, Sir?"_

"_She's __WHAT?"_

**Pas De Deux**

The headmaster read the ornate silver note twice more before handing it over with amusement for his potions master to scan. He could hardly credit what he was reading:

* * *

_Dearest Headmaster Dumbledore: _

_I wish to extend a cordial invitation to the Globe Theater in London for the night of July thirty-first, from six pm to the natural end of the festivities. We will be celebrating the twelfth anniversary of the birth of your student, Harold James Potter, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. _

_The young lord's birthday party will be center costume dress highlighting the ballet recital of young Lord Potter and his companion the young Lord Malfoy. They will be performing the battle scene between the Nutcracker Prince and the Rat King, with the guest of honor performing the title role. _

_In light of this, if it is to your convenience to attend, please RSVP by visiting Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley to be fitted for your costume. _

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Lady Narcissa Malfoy_

* * *

"I was not aware that Harry had received formal dance training to the extent that Madam Malfoy would allow him to perform at any of her events, even his own birthday celebration." Albus commented with amusement.

"Oh, Lady Malfoy will dare a great many things for this celebration," Severus answered with a frightening scowl that barely softened as he finished, "but the child will dedicate himself to anything that he believes will please his elders, and has acquired no small amount of skill in a very brief time. Due to the flexibility provided by his abilities as a metamorphmagus, he is nearly on the same level as my godson, despite Draco's years of practice."

"Severus, my goodness, I would have thought that you would be at least resigned, if not eager to celebrate your charges birthday. Does this have anything to do with the fact that you will need to be costumed?"

"Pthhh!" Severus gestured as though he were flicking the ridiculous idea away. "I have already been fitted for my costume."

"Dare I ask who you will be?" Albus asked with impudently twinkling eyes. "Surely you have not been cast as Roethbart from Swan Lake?"

"No, though I suspect it would be preferable, the lady has a different fate in mind for me. I am being cast as Lucien d'Hervilly, the French Officer."

"Ahh, yes. Paquita: the tale of an illicit love affair between a gypsy and a noble. Well, she has an amusing sense of irony to be certain; although, I would have thought that she might have been a trace more sensitive to your parents' background… unless perhaps… you have done something to displease her?"

"Madam Malkin did mention that my costume was originally that of Conrad, the pirate captain from Le Corsaire." Severus admitted awkwardly.

"Severus, whatever did you do to peak the lady's ire?" Albus chuckled. The Lady Malfoy had always struck him as the human embodiment of a rose – beautiful almost beyond compare and possessing the sharpest of barbs.

"I disagreed with a little matter that she intended to persuade me of." Severus growled.

"Always an unwise choice, My boy. From what I have seen, if her husband had possessed the wit to heed her, he might have been in much better circumstances and much better acquaintances."

"She means to see me married, Albus!" Severus finally erupted.

"What a wonderful idea! May I ask who has she cast as the Lady Paquita?"

"Are you daft? Or, simply deaf? I said that Lady Malfoy intends to see me married before the year ends."

"A Christmas Wedding? How delightful. I shall have to cancel my holiday arrangements immediately and invite my grandnephew to stay here instead."

"You must be as daft as th— You knew!" Severus realized with a fierce scowl.

"The young lady contacted me when she received her invitation with quite understandable surprise."

"No doubt. Does she realize Narcissa's intent?" the grim, dreading tone in Severus's question softened Albus's amusement.

No doubt the young man found the prospect difficult to conceive of; even as a student, he had been rather solitary with the only strong attachment that he formed in love with his rival.

"I suspect not."

"Did you inform her?"

"Now that would hardly be sporting would it? No, I merely mentioned that it would benefit the order to have as many watchful eyes on hand as possible, given the hosts past acquaintances."

"You are as bad as Narcissa, practically ordering her there. At least, she would have felt comfortable refusing the invitation."

"My boy, she is far too young to start refusing invitations on the basis of a few socially awkward moments."

"Socially awkward moments?" Severus asked with sharp sarcasm. "She was one of my students, Albus."

"I find it difficult to believe that you would find it more comfortable to discuss your passion … for potions with someone who studied under your predecessor, Professor Slughorn?"

"Of course not."

"Certainly not his predecessor, Pheneas?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Severus retorted, rejecting the idea of attaching himself to someone old enough to be his grandmother.

"Well, there you have it, you must simply consign yourself to one of your students, if only for sanity's sake."

"But, Albus, surely you can not be in favor of this."

"How could you even ask that, Severus?" Albus asked gently, almost breaking into a smile as the potions master relaxed with a well surpressed air of disappointment and a distinct expression self-doubt. For all of his arrogant and intemperate posturing, the boy's confidence was such a shaky thing. "Of course, I approve. The two of you are inherently trustworthy. You have both proven yourselves in trying circumstances. You are unlikely to resent her for her background or wanting her own career, and if my memory serves me, she was never quite intimidated by your fits of temper – a quality I would think necessary in a mate. Aside from that you are equally powerful and have sufficient skills to protect young Harry, should the need ever arise. I think it is a very good match. Now, if you will excuse me, I must pop off to Madam Malkin's to be fitted for my costume. I do wonder who she has cast me as. The lady has such a delightful sense of humor."

Without another word, the headmaster swept out of his office, leaving Severus standing by his desk a bewildered state. The young man was really so easy to undo in such little ways that Albus almost felt guilty for his enjoyment. Almost, but it was difficult to feel truly guilty when he was so looking forward to the amusements of Harry's birthday party. Whatever else could be said of Lady Malfoy, if she leant her hand to an event, it became spectacular.

When Severus finally shook himself out of his amazement, the headmaster was gone, which was just as well, for the potions master was quite sure that he would have had no idea what to say. He had gotten no farther with the batty old wizard than he had gotten with Narcissa, and he was quite dumbfounded at how they had gotten the upper hand so easily. For Merlin's sake, he had needed a warning from Harry to even recognize what the witch had in mind, and when he had confronted her, every possible excuse he came up – she pierced as easily as a fencing dummy. Her anger alone had been a sight when he continued to refuse her.

The fact that Lucius felt he should take the boys on an outing, should have been a warning, in itself, but at that point, Severus was too peaked by Harry's warning to notice. He had the common sense to hold his temper until after they were out the door, thankfully, for he doubted that the child was quite ready to see the heights his temper could reach, but once the door was closed and a discreet layer of silencing spells cast, Severus turned to make his feelings known.

Narcissa was quite prepared by that point; however, and had the first words out before he could even utter his complaint: "Severus, I have always regarded you as an intelligent wizard, but if you intend to stand there and tell me that you honestly believe that you can give the child all that he needs – I will have to lower my estimation of you a thousand-fold."

"Perhaps not all, but that's no reason to enter a reckless union. Sometimes, Narcissa, I really do wonder if you are not descended from Morgana – you seem to thrive on stirring up trouble."

"Oh, so you don't actually feel that the child deserves the benefit of a mother."

"He had a mother. One I can't replace with marriage of convenience with whatever cloying society tart you've managed to blackmail in to the proposition."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, Severus. No one who travels in my circles would even take a second glance at you, as I am sure you are aware – with your doubtful background. I did not even spend a second on considering anyone of social standing, but looked for someone much closer to your level and affiliations."

"As much as I appreciate that you stooped to tour the b-list's tea parties and charities, it's much better not to even grope about for someone who…"

"Who would what, Severus? Care for the child? Sing him to sleep, wake for his nightmares, see to him when he's ill?"

"I can do those things, Narcissa. I am not entirely without compassion, and if you think so little of me, how can you have ever considered me a fit godfather for Draco?" Severus snarled wishing that he could throw something to offset the anger that she was stirring up.

Then, as if she had been waiting for those words, she turned them back on him just as the headmaster would later do: "Ahh, but that is precisely the problem, Severus. It's not I who thinks so little of you, it is yourself that you have to blame for the sneers that my society friends habitually give you. For years, after our marriage, when Lucius invited you to our little mixers, I would field question after question about my husband's tall, dark, rugged friend. If you had ever once softened, even enough to smile at any of them, despite your background and your then low prospects, you would have had many possible unions available when you finally decided to settle down, but you never softened your sneer, and now my friends – who do not even know you and have never heard anything but praise from my husband and myself- think as little of you as you do yourself. The young woman that I have selected for you is quite another sort, however, for she seems to see through your ever present glower and thinks quite highly of you."

"How far did you have to stoop to find her, then? St. Mungo's?"

"Oh, I hardly had to look much farther than my family tree, or should I say a limb broken from the family tree?"

"You can't mean…"

"Oh, I most certainly do. It would be a good match for both of you. You're both of mixed parentage. There's barely a ten year age difference, which is in your favor as its well known witches tend to mature in wisdom and humor much earlier than wizards do. Add to that the fact that both of you are underappreciated by your peers and have become quite the recluse as a result. Those she works with refuse to take her seriously because of the avante garde humor that she inherited from her muggle father, and those she would socialize with would never take her seriously as a marriage prospect because of her ambitions if not her tainted bloodline."

"Ms. Tonks is both a young and intelligent woman; you must be under a confundus charm to believe that she would be in such an isolated state as you described, much less that she would seriously even consider an invitation coming from me."

"I'll thank you to insult only yourself. You may be the most observant of wizards, but as a wizard, or put more bluntly, as a man, there are matters that you quite naturally miss when you look down on our teas and social chatter."

"Perhaps, but this is nevertheless…"

"The best union you could hope for – socially …. and politically." Despite her moderate Narcissa stressed the last word heavily with the delay before she continued, "For yourself and Harry."

Eyeing her sharply, Severus stilled his expression at the charged words, sensing for the first time that there was something more going on than casual match-making behind her words, and murmured softly, "Explain."

"Severus, though my allegiance has always been firmly in Lucius's camp, I am not, nor have I ever been blind to his flaws."

"And this factors into our discussion, how?"

"I can easily anticipate the young ladies affiliations."

"As can I, Narcissa, but that does not answer my question."

She finally met his gaze with a surprisingly keen glint of strength that he had not noticed there in many years. She searched his eyes and sent a light probe to stroke his mental shields and remind him that Bella was not the only Black trained in legillimency.

"Even inside Hogwart's, you can not always be with Harry, and any wife that you would take should have the training, strength, and political power – of her own – to protect Harry … and your godson- if the future should turn as I suspect it might. She is a good match, Severus and I will not allow you to stand in the way of insuring my son's future – particularly when Harry benefits as well. There is nothing more to say on the matter."

Without another word, Narcissa swept from the room to join Harry and her family, whom she was certain were waiting for her nearby - at a small French bakery that Lucius had invested in, and Severus had stopped by Madam Malkins to be fitted then returned to the headmaster, hoping the old wizard could talk him out of making a fool of himself in the attempt to court the much younger auror. For all the good that had done.

Pulling away from his ruminations, Severus stalked back down the hall, slowly and pointedly dissecting their arguments piece by piece – looking for any flaw he could find. Instead, he only managed to add points to their arguments, including the fact that being a metamagamorpheus, herself, Ms. Tonks would have the better experience to guide to guide Harry through all of the possible transformations he might attempt. Added to that, her naturally light nature might be what he needed to offset his own dour moods.

When that task yielded nothing, Severus finally turned toward his private quarts and gathered up a firewhiskey bottle and a small bowl of ice before sinking on to the couch in front of the fireplace.


	21. Chapter 21

Tiniest Wish: Pas de Trois, Part 21.

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

_I wish to extend a cordial invitation to attend the Globe Theater in London  
for the night of July thirty-first, from six pm to the natural end of the festivities._

_We will be celebrating the twelfth anniversary of the birth of your student,  
Harold James Potter, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.  
The young lord's birthday party will be celebrated with a costume ball highlighting  
the ballet recital of young Lord Potter and his companion, the young Lord Malfoy._

_They will be performing the battle scene between the Nutcracker Prince  
and the Rat King, with the guest of honor performing the title role._

_In light of this, if it is to your convenience to attend, please RSVP  
by visiting Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley to be fitted for your costume._

_Yours Sincerely,  
Lady Narcissa Malfoy_

**Pas de Trois**

Fumbling with the chinstrap of the odd tall that Lady Malfoy had called a shako, Harry tried to still his expression to hide his nervousness as the ghostly make up artist finished putting on the last touches to his make up. It wasn't the ghost that was making him nervous though. In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry had become accustomed to seeing ghosts, though never this close up, and he'd never been touched by one before, which was a funny, chilling kind of feeling that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Kind of like the way he felt about his birthday party.

He was thrilled that she would want to throw one for him, and touched that she went to so much trouble, but that worried him a little too. No, that worried him a lot. She had gone to a lot of trouble, and even rented a stage for him and Draco to dance on. What if no one came? Outside of his suitemates, he really couldn't say that he had too many friends. Not that any of his year mates or even the older students treated him like the kids had at the muggle school he had attended with his cousin, it was just something about being in dorms and houses. People from different houses didn't seem to want to spend time with each other, and a lot of them really didn't treat the other kids in his house well. So, he really didn't think anyone would show up except maybe his aunt, uncle, and cousin, who wouldn't miss a chance at a free dinner, even if it was for his birthday.

He thought Professor Snape might, too; he hoped he would, but when the professor visited he had said that there was quite a bit to get done before the beginning of school, so Harry had been afraid to ask him to take more time off than he already had. As it was, the Professor had already taken the extra time to check on Ahhsitha just because Harry had asked him, too.

"Young Sir, if you continue to readjust the chin strap, I will have to continue to re-apply your make up giving me no time to spend on your companions'." The ghost chastised softly.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Harry blushed and jerked his hand away."

"It is no trouble; I am after all a professional. I have been preparing actors and dancers to step out on the stage for over four hundred years, and have seen many far more nervous than you."

"You have?"

"Of course. There have been many young actors to grace this stage with hands so sweaty that they could not hold the rails to climb the steps. Others were so frightened that they took to drink before they mounted the stage, and so some of the finest tragedies became sad comedies, and greatest comedies a tragic farce."

"Oh." Harry murmured softly as he thought about how strange his Uncle Vernon would act after a few drinks. He could easily see how that might throw things off.

"Now, turn." The ghost circled her finger over his head until he faced the mirror and stared at himself in surprise.

"A finer Nutcracker Prince, I have never seen." The ghost assured him with a soft smile before departing to do Draco's make up, he assumed.

When he was finally alone, he reached out curious fingers to touch his image in the mirror. He couldn't believe it. He really did look like a prince of some kind. It was the the wonderful costume that Lady Malfoy had specially ordered from Madam Malkins, and the make up, of course, but he did. He looked almost like a prince.

"Almost," a familiar voice murmured softly from behind him, seeming to read his thoughts. Darting his eyes up in surprise, Harry couldn't believe it when he saw his Professor dressed in a costume that while it wasn't identical to his looked very, very much like an adult version of his costume.

Professor Snape wore a shako, too, with a taller plume at its top. His coat was more ornate than Harry's and shorter, ending above the waist, but they were both in the same navy blue with gold lacing across the chest. Their tights to, had been constructed similarly so that they looked like breeches with short boots. The only major differences between their costumes was that the Professor was wearing a half cape over his shoulder and Harry's coat ended in tails.

"Sir?" Harry asked in surprise before darting over to hug the professor, only realizing barely in time, that doing so would mess up his make up.

"Harry," Severus answered with a smile and squeezed his shoulder with understanding. "You look very much the Prince."

"Thank you, Sir."

"There's only one thing missing."

"There is?" Harry could hardly believe it. When they were being fitted, Lady Malfoy had been very strict with Madam Malkin, specifying down to the button how his costume would look.

"Yes, you need, a hausse cols… a French gorget." Severus explained when it was clear that Harry didn't recognize either label: "It is a special plate that European officers wore during the Napoleonic era to protect their throat, but as it happens, by some chance, I seem to have an extra one on hand that I believe will fit you, perfectly." The professor slipped his hand beneath the half-cloak and pulled out an ornately embossed gold plate with a design that he had seen somewhere before.

Staring at it intently, he studied the moving design until he suddenly remembered where he had seen it: in Neville Longbottom's family handbook on the lineage of ancient houses. As he up at the professor for confirmation, Harry was tightened with emotions and he couldn't manage to get the question out, but the Professor understood as he always seemed to and answered Harry's question without even needing to hear it.

"Yes, that is the Prince family crest – from my mother's family. When matters are settle officially, I will be able to commission an heir ring as you will be heir to my estate as well, but until then I wished for you to have a symbol of our family. It has been charmed feather-light, and I will cast a sticking spell to hold it in place so it doesn't disrupt you while you perform."

"Thank you, Sir." Harry answered almost breathlessly. He wanted to tell the professor how much the gesture meant to him, but the large lump in his throat seemed to be blocking his attempts.

"You're very welcome, Harry." Severus replied around a lump in his own throat, and gently took the plate back to fasten it at Harry's collar.

"Perfect. Now you are the Nutcracker Prince." Severus murmured with amused smile at the pun as he turned Harry back to the mirror. Harry glanced at it briefly, but as handsome as the piece was, he couldn't keep his eyes away from the firm visage that was staring down at him with glistening dark eyes. It was only after he had stared so long that he felt like he was being rude that he mentioned something he had noticed seconds before.

"Your hair's in a pony tail."

"Would you like yours to be in one, as well?"

"I would, but it's too short." Harry complained softly.

"It needn't be." Severus suggested, as he knelt in front of Harry and blocked his view of the mirror, "You can use the metamorphic talents that you use to cover your scars, without requiring a specific spell. You've changed the length of your hair before."

"I was asleep then, though." Harry protested uncertainly.

"True, but you have also used it consciously before for something more complex. Would you like to try it?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well and close your eyes. Good." The professor coaxed as he slipped his fingers into Harry's locks, "Can you feel my fingers?"

"Good. Now, I am going to pull very, very lightly on your hair, and I would like for you to imagine that your hair is going to extend like the tendrils of your little devil's snare plant to follow my fingers."

"Like Bernice?" the child asked, trying to picture the thin shoots that the plant Madam Sprout had given him sent out when she was hungry.

"Yes, just like Bernice's runners. Quiet your mind as we've practiced and try to imagine that."

Hoping he wouldn't disappoint the man, he closed his eyes wished for his hair to lengthen with all the nerves and energy that had been pent up in him the past several seconds.

"Uhmm…Hi." Another voice sounded from the door just as he had the image of Bernice's tendrils captured in his thoughts.

"A moment please, Miss Tonks." Severus commented over Harry's shoulder before he glanced back down at his charge… and future son to note with surprise that the child's hair had seemed to take his explanation very much to heart and was curling around his fingers like growing tendrils of black silk.

The professor sighed with gentle amusement that he could still be surprised by the child, extracted his fingers from the curls that seemed to want to cling for a moment, and commented, "That's enough, Harry. Any longer and it would not have been appropriate for a young man of your age. Head of a Noble and Ancient household or no."

When the child's eyes flashed open with the astonished realization that he had followed the instructions, Severus's amusement dimmed softly – saddened by Harry's lack of confidence, but that was soon lightened by the child's hopeful tone when he asked if he could see.

"A moment." Severus delayed as he took a tissue from a box on the dressing table, transfigured it into a black silk ribbon that he used to tie the child's hair back. Curling a finger under Harry's chin, he turned the child's face back and forth until he was satisfied that the boy's hair would not distract him during the recital, then met Harry's eyes to be sure the child saw his satisfied nod before he rose and stepped out of the way.

"Oh," Harry murmured as he trailed a finger across the mirror image of his pony tail. "It's just like yours."

"Quite." Severus smiled softly at the child in the mirror. "Quite."

"That was beautifully done, Harry." The young woman who entered earlier commented. "Professor, Lady Malfoy asked that I retrieve you and young Lord Potter for your performances."

"Performances?" Harry turned curiously to the Professor.

"Yes, Harry, you are not the only one who will be called upon to perform this evening. It would hardly be fitting to require that the guest of honor entertain the other guests all evening. Lord and Lady Malfoy will shortly perform piece from Swan Lake, and Narcissa has asked that I perform a variation from Paquita. After dinner, Madam Ballalinka has loaned Lady Malfoy several of her seventh year students to perform the remainder of the Nutcracker Suite suite."

"Paquita?" Harry paused trying to remember if Lady Malfoy had mentioned the ballet during any of the practices. He was astonished that Draco's mother had put so much work into his birthday, but felt somewhat better that at least with the other dancers, there would be enough people there to share all the food that Lady Malfoy had ordered the house elves to prepare.

Before Professor Snape could answer his question, the young lady, who was, he finally noticed, dressed in a tutu that seemed to be made from hundreds of brightly colored silk scarves, curtsied and elaborated, "Paquita was a young gypsy maiden, who saved the life of a young French Officer – in this case," she paused gesturing to the professor's costume, "A young French Calvary officer… A Hussar?"

At his nod, she continued, "A Hussar, whom she falls in love with only to later learn, by virtue of a magic charm, which she has worn since she was saved by the gypsies as a babe, that she is the young officer's distant cousin – of noble birth and able to marry the young man she adores. Lady Malfoy asked that we dance a Pas de Deux from the scene where Paquita becomes enamored with the Prince."

"Sir, are you all right?" Harry asked when he glanced at his professor and noticed that the wizard had gone very still and had the expression Harry thought of as his 'Slytherin face' tightly in place.

"What, Child?"

"He asked if you were alright, Professor." The young woman answered with a mischievous smile.

"Yes, Harry, I am fine. Lady Malfoy simply neglected to mention that I would have a partner for the selection that Miss Tonks mentioned. I would have contacted Miss Tonks to rehearse if I had known."

"Oh," Harry murmured softly wondering how Lady Malfoy had forgotten something like that. She seemed to be so focused on such tiny details down to buttons and salt cubits. Yet, she had left out his Haw-sse cols, the professor said, but then he had brought one with his family crest on it, so Harry couldn't help but think that she had left it off for that reason.

Did she maybe have a reason that she left off telling the professor about the change in his performance until the very last minute? It didn't seem like a very nice thing to do when he and Draco had needed to practice for over a week to get the steps down in the right timing.

Seeming to answer his question, Professor Snape commented, "Lady Malfoy has a visc—rather biting sense of humor."

"I like it," Miss Tonks commented, "It puts you off guard, letting you think that you know how the joke will end, only to throw in a new punch line out of nowhere."

"Indeed. Well, Miss Tonks, I believe that I hear the ending strains of Lord and Lady Malfoy's performance, shall we prepare to mount the stage."

"Of course," she answered brightly, taking the professor's arm. "Harry, if you'll join us. I believe Lady Malfoy will tell you what to do once she's off stage, but she would like for us to escort you there so you won't wander off in search of birthday presents, as I hear young Draco did before his recital."

"Yes, Ma'am." Harry smiled, tucking her comment in the back of his mind to tease Draco with later.

As they walked down the short back stage hall leading to the stage, Harry looked around the hall of the famous theater as he had not had the chance to do when Lady Malfoy hustled him back to the dressing room after they had gotten a late start thanks to the Dursleys, who claimed that they had forgotten when they were to drop Harry off for the final fitting of his costume, earlier in the week. While he looked around, he heard Professor Snape and his dance partner talking quietly, but paid no attention until the professor stopped sharply, seeming almost in shock, and asked in a strangled voice, "You knew?!?"

"Of course, I knew. I wouldn't be fit for the auror corps if I couldn't draw such an obvious conclusion from abundant evidence."

"And?" The professor's question startled Harry, but it wasn't really the question that drew his worried attention; it was the uncertainty that he heard in the professor's voice.


	22. Chapter 22

Tiniest Wish: The Suite, Part 22.

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback.

At his nod, she continued…_"Lady Malfoy asked that we dance a Pas de Deux  
from the scene where Paquita becomes enamored with the Prince."_  
"_Sir, are you all right?" Harry asked when he glanced at his professor  
and noticed that the wizard had gone very still and had the expression  
Harry thought of as his 'Slytherin face' tightly in place._

"_What, Child?"_

"_He asked if you were alright, Professor." The young woman answered  
with a mischievous smile._

"_Yes, Harry, I am fine. Lady Malfoy simply neglected to mention  
that I would have a partner for the selection that Miss Tonks mentioned._

**The Suite**

"Of course, I knew what Lady Malfoy intended when she invited me. I wouldn't be fit for the auror corps if I couldn't draw such an obvious conclusion from abundant evidence."

"And?" The professor's question startled Harry, but it wasn't really the question that drew his worried attention; it was the uncertainty that he heard in the professor's voice.

Miss Tonks shrugged lightly commenting only, "You know this isn't the first time I've seen you in tights."

"What?!?" The professor stared at her perplexed by the non-sequitor.

"When I was a child, my mum was afraid that I was too much of what my father called a tom-boy and insisted that I took ballet training with Madam Ballalinka. I thought I was going to absolutely hate it because all of the girls in the class were pure bloods, and I had already seen how they treated me in day school, but Madam Ballalinka had this apprentice that coached us beginning students.

He was a student himself, just a little older than a seventh year, and I thought it meant that he was going to be really nice to us in class. But, that was the furthest thing from the truth. Madam Ballalinka was harsh, a perfectionist, and completely unforgiving, and I've often wondered if that's where he learned that attitude - but she had nothing on him. He demanded that we practice our basic routines over and over and over until we had every step correct, and if we missed a step, even just one, we had to stay after to work on it with him until we had it correct, and until we did, he was impatient, gruff, and as snappish as a grindylow. For the most part, he was nice to me, though, and never let the other girls get away with teasing me, or calling me names. After he fussed at Prissy Parkinson...well… "

As Miss Tonks spoke, Harry began to blink and stare at her in fascination. When he had first seen her in the mirror, she had seemed much younger than the professor, but now as he got a closer look, he wondered how he could have thought so. She didn't look as young as he had first thought, but if Professor Snape had taught her ballet as a child, she couldn't be quite as old as he thought she looked now. Still, there were lines at the creases of her eyes and mouth and age spots on her throat. Her eyebrows looked shaggier than he thought they had looked before and her hair much darker. The lighting in the dressing room must have been brighter than he thought, too, because, up close, her russet complexion really made her look like the gypsy girl she was dancing.

"To tell the truth, I think I had a bit of a crush on him." Miss Tonks words drew him out of his reverie and he turned to see Professor Snape's reaction to her comment.

The look of astonishment on the professor's was so humorous that Harry nearly giggled, only stopping himself in time with one of so many memories of how it felt to be laughed at. He hated the thought of the professor ever feeling like that and quickly schooled his face in case the wizard happened to glance in his direction. As always, though, Professor Snape seemed to have the inside track on his thoughts and glanced his way at the exact moment his 'slytherin face' slid into place, but instead of the hurt or disappointment that he had expected to be there – the professor wore a wry expression as he reached out and patted Harry on an epaulet covered shoulder.

Determined not to let the clearly quick-witted woman get the upper hand, Severus turned back to Miss Tonks with a mischievous smirk, he asked, "Oh, do tell us more about this infatuation you had for the apprentice. Did you perhaps write poems to him in your diaries, as young girls often do, I'm told? Or add his surname to yours?"

When Miss Tonks blushed brightly in answer, Harry couldn't hold his giggle in – particularly when he glanced back at the professor's face, which was wearing an even greater expression of shock.

"You did?" the professor asked, and Harry was sure that had never heard the professor's voice sound so disbelieving.

Miss Tonks simply nodded and hurried her steps a bit to reach the ramp as Lady Malfoy, who had just appeared from in front of the curtains gestured for them to hurry.

Before they stepped out, though, she seemed to recover her sense of mischief and winked at Harry before tossing out a comment, "But, those weren't anything compared to some of the things I wrote in the library's potion texts. As I said, this isn't the first time I've seen you in tights."

Professor Snape stopped sharply and stared at her with a look that Harry couldn't interpret, then shook his head as he commented to Lady Malfoy, who was urging him up the stairs with a smirk: "Your sense of humor seems to know no boundaries."

When Harry went to follow them up the stairs, Lady Malfoy laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Not just yet, Harry."

From the where he stood at the edge of the steps, Harry was able to see the entire stage and was soon enthralled with their performance.

In the entrée, Miss Tonks scurried on stage with tiny glissades and spotting curtains that crossed the edges of the stage just enough to separate the upstage darted to them in swift little pas de bouree steps peformed high en pointe. When she was safely in front of the curtains, seen by the audience, but presumably hidden from any action downstage, the professor swept on stage as though he was in battle with several opponents. Though on pointe, Professor Snape moved powerfully across the stage with jete enterlace turns and leaps. With each turn he seemed to be defending himself from a different opponent's onslaught and each leap stalked his attackers. In a grand jete leap, he appeard to avoid the sweep of an unseen blade. Jete after jete, he took to the air, appearing to avoid one strike after another. En tourant, he parried and blocked the attack of one blade after another as his arms swept through all positions in a formulaic full porte de bras. Harry held his breath in excitement as the professor swept from one move to the next, seeming unbeatable.

Miss Tonks, who had leaned forward with her leg lifted behind in an arabesque to peek around the edge of the curtains, watched unmoving until in the middle of a leap, his step suddenly broke and he dropped from en pointe to demi-pointe, barely rising on the balls of his feet. His arms dropped to second position - out to the side, angled down, with his palms facing forward, showing his grip empty - disarmed. His naturally staunch expression seemed to radiate defeat as he slowly, stiffly lifted his arms to first position, in front of him as if his wrists were being chained - then dropped them back to rest, bras au repose, in front of him, palms facing each other, with his fingers barely touching and the back edge of the hands resting on the thighs. There question, as far as Harry was concerned, that although the professor's chin was still lifted in defiance, he had been captured.

As the lights on Professor Snape lowered until only his silhouette could be seen, Miss Tonks slowly returned her foot to the floor. As she slowly swept her arms through the full porte de bras, she appeared to be checking all directions to be sure that the coast was clear. After a brief hesitation, she jumped on pointe and approached the professor's silhouette in slow, watchful, little kick steps. As he watched, Harry was so intent or trying to remember the name of the little steps, that he was startled when Lady Malfoy's hand closed on his shoulder and shook it lightly.

"Harry," her hushed whisper had a touch of impatience that told Harry she had probably tried to call him more than once.

"Yes, Ma'am?" He whispered quietly as he half turned, trying to keep his eyes on the stage.

"Harry, if you would kindly pay attention." Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if she was going to dig her nails in the way that his Aunt Petunia did.

"Yes, Ma'am," he jerked upright, hopefully before he felt the need to, and answered nervously.

"It is time for you to take your place on the stage."

"But…" he glanced back to see the Professor and Miss Tonks engaged in the slow formal adage where both dancers partnered in a well-synchronized demonstration of time-developed movements that seemed almost exaggerated by the achingly slow speed in which they were performed.

"I am certain that you will be able to ask both your professor and my niece for an encore performance; however, this is your recital, and you do have duties – even as the guest of honor."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry sighed before taking a quick glance back at the professor and his partner.

"If only Draco had your interest."

"Ma'am?"

"It's nothing, Harry. Simply, an unfulfilled hope that Draco would have found as much pleasure from _The Dance_ as you seem to."

"Draco loves his dance lessons, with you, Ma'am. He may sigh a little bit, but I can tell he likes them. He loves spending time with you." Harry offered, hoping to politely refute her comment.

"Thank you, Harry. Yes, he does enjoy the time we spend together, but it was my hope to leave him with something that he could take pleasure from – throughout his life. Instead, he seems to take many of his father's interests." The heavy tone of her voice seemed to suggest that she was discussing something more than ballet, but he couldn't tell what.

"Oh…" Harry murmured, not certain what to say and finally finished the only way he could think of: "I'm sorry."

"There is certainly no need for you to be, Harry. If anything, his friendship with you, this year has affected several surprising changes in my son: changes, which give me hope that he is not so distant as I had once imagined. Now, come along, we really must not dawdle, the first strains of their coda have begun."

With that, Narcissa lead him behind the curtains and had him take kneel to the left of an immense Christmas tree with wrapped packages taller than him. As he knelt, familiar voices whispered, "Happy Birthday, Harry." Jerking his head around swiftly, Harry was startled to see, Draco and Greg in costumes almost exactly like his – minus only the plume in their shakos, kneeling at the right of the tree. Millicent was stretched out just a few feet ahead of him on a bed of pillows. And further up stage, just within the curtains, his suitemates, Leonard Lukins and Christopher Nearguard were crouching on all fours, dressed in mice costumes. Leaving Oliver Dolohov as the rat King.

Before Harry could call up to them, Millicent glared him to stay quiet as they heard the last notes of the musical accompaniment to the professor and his partner's performance fade away. Harry's stomach dropped when the last note fell away and the sound of clapping didn't immediately start. What little he saw of it, made Harry absolutely certain that the performance had been stunning. If no one clapped, it could only mean that no one was out there because even the Dursley's would have known to clap at something like that.

Well, he had known that no one was coming all along, hadn't he? His suitemates, like Draco, had probably had their recitals years ago, so there really wasn't any need for their parents to hang around- he knew, but he had hoped that they would so that at least Lady Malfoy's work wouldn't go to waste. He had known not to expect any of his year mates. He really had, but after he had heard Lady Malfoy ordering invitations sent to his entire year, he had foolishly let himself get his hopes up – thinking that without Dudley at school, someone at least might think about coming.

"Boom," Draco whispered in concern as he noticed the birthday boy's crestfallen face, but before he could inquire further, the curtains began to rise.

Due to the stage lights, they couldn't see out into the theater, but for Harry, that was just as well; he was happier not seeing out there. It was enough for him to know that Professor Snape and the Malfoy's were probably watching, and they were the ones he would have wanted to be at his party anyway – above everyone else. And, they were here for this, as they had been at Christmas, and in the infirmary at Hogwarts, both times he had been hurt. They had taken him in and cared for him. Why was he caring that no one else had shown? The audience he wanted was there, and they were the ones he wanted to dance for anyway.

With that thought in mind, Harry thought about the professor's performance and how the professor had maintained his carriage and posture… how he started and landed his steps… the way he swept his arms. Draco had been the best, to show him the steps and positions over and over – time and again – until Harry had them down, but there were some nuances that watching the professor had shown him, and Harry wanted to make his performance the best he could. As the music started, something happened in Harry's thoughts, that had never happened before.

The intricacy of matching the steps that Lady Malfoy and Draco had taught him to Professor Snape's execution of similar steps overwhelmed his other thoughts, so that in those moments, all of the thoughts, insecurities, and worries that plagued him fell away. In those brief moments, an instinct that he wasn't aware he had, took over and guided his movements. Before long, he was not even having to think about the moves as he made them. His practice with Draco, and an almost substantial overlay of the professor's attitudes, joined as if they were autonomic reflexes like breathing: reflexes that expanded and tightened his muscles without thought. Even the movements that he had struggled with became natural, and he found himself oddly conscious of simply being- existing in the moment, and enjoying it.

The music was stirring. The precision of the steps felt right. He knew in every second where he was going next, and there wasn't even the question in the back of his thoughts whether it was the right direction or not. It felt right, in his muscles and in his spine, in a way that he couldn't remember anything feeling right for the longest time. His breath came easily between steps and at the right moment to sustain the expenditure of energy when he lifted en pointe into a grand jete and a lunge at the moment the Nutcracker prince's sword was to have pierced the Rat King's mail. It was exhilarating, and he suddenly understood why Lady Malfoy had hoped that Draco would take pleasure in it.

As the music slowed, Harry slowly became aware of the exertion of his muscles, and the perspiration coating his forehead and trickling down to the small of his back. Although the theater had felt quite chilly before, heat radiated from his skin and was trapped in the now almost stifling costume. Thankfully, the curtains chose that moment to close and he was able to sweep a palm across his face to wipe away the perspiration that was rolling into his eyes.

"Hhhhwouhhh!" He breathed out in a sigh of relief and glanced around to find Draco.

Lady Malfoy had said that the curtains would close and that he and Draco were to stand side by side in the middle of the stage, just behind the curtains so that they could bow properly when the curtains opened again. Instead of Draco's, though, the first face he spied was Millicent's, and he was forced to pause and study her in wonder.

Her face: it was her, but it wasn't her, all at the same time. Her expression was far softer than he had ever seen it before, and without the glare, she somehow looked like a much younger girl, a younger and happier girl. Her costume, a young girl's sleeping gown, only enhanced the effect. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, and she was breathing a little fast as she approached. There was a thin sheen of perspiration over her cheeks as well, and on the hand that she was reaching out to him

"Daboia," he murmured softly as he took her hand and pulled her forward so that she would be in line with he and Draco. At the same time, he felt Draco come up beside him and take his hand. He spared his friend a quick thankful glance, knowing the curtains would be up in seconds, but quickly turned back to catch a last look at Millicent's face knowing that she would go back to her normal, public expression before the curtains rose.

It was almost a surprise to find her staring back at him with a curious but still soft expression. They studied each other for a long second, until Draco jerked his hand lightly alerting him to the fact that the curtains were up.

Embarrassed, at being caught off guard, Harry cast a sheepish glance forward, this time disappointed that he couldn't see past the edge of the stage. He was sure the professor would have watched and wanted to prepare himself for the professor's reaction before he spoke. As they had practiced, Harry and Draco straightened and held a statuesque attitude before bowing deeply and their suitemates did the same. When they stood up again, though, instead of bowing a second time as they had practiced, Draco and Millicent let go of his hand and with the others took a long step backward.

Harry was almost ready to turn and find out why they had done that, but thought at the last moment that it might have something to do with him being the guest of honor and stayed in place. After a second slow count of three, he bowed again, and was relieved to see his friends doing the same. This time as he bowed, the stage lights dimmed and he thought he hears some movement beyond the edge of the stage.

When he stood, he was rocked by the sight of every balcony filled with witches and wizards. The round yard at the base of the stage was filled with at least twenty tables decorated stocked with food, but he now doubted that their would be enough, for at the outside of the yard, in a broad three quarter circle, beneath the balconies, three tiers of seats were filled with his entire house. Every year had someone there to represent them, and Harry suspected that it truly was his entire house.

He glanced around the amphitheater in awe, certain that he was hallucinating. This many people couldn't have… just couldn't have come for him. It wasn't possible. There were only three people he could think of who would be interested in attending his birthday – maybe four, if you counted Madam Pomfrey. As he looked around, he couldn't pick them out and knew that this had to be a figment. They would have been there, even if no one else was.

Then, just over his right shoulder, someone began to clap softly, and he turned to see that it was Professor Snape. How he had missed noticing the large, ornately decorated theater box, he had no idea, but now having found it, it was easy to discern his housemaster standing from his seat and applauding him. Lord and Lady Malfoy were standing beside him and next to an older woman with a rather stately tiara. For a second, he thought she looked like Queen Elizabeth, but that was impossible. Smiling down on him, she acknowledged him with a smile and joined the professor in clapping.

As if they had been waiting for precisely that moment, Lord and Lady Malfoy and the guests in the other balconies suddenly broke into furious applause. Other guests, didn't want their show of appreciation to be drown out in a show of clapping conjured white rose petals into the air and let them drift down to the stage around him. Others conjured fairy lights, and baby's breath. Another conjured glistening soap bubbles but banished them when it became obvious that the wafty little sparklers were landing in and tainting the food. With a flick of an unseen wand, the tainted food was replaced with trays and goblets of other delicacies.

As he watched all of it, Harry felt his chest constrict. He couldn't believe this. In fact, he was almost light headed with disbelief, until Draco and Millicent came up on either side and loudly wished: "Happy Birthday, Harry."

On cue, the small orchestra, setting in an even deeper portion of the so called 'pit' that circled the stage, began to play the traditional birthday melody, and over a thousand voices picked up the tune. Out of all of them, however, he easily discerned the Professor's rich baritone and turned to meet the Professor's gaze.

It was by all standards – his best birthday ever, and Harry was certain that it could have ended right then without any other festivity or gift and would, nevertheless, remain so.

* * *

A/N Coming attractions 

Harry gets some unusual presents, Severus gets a surprise, and the Dursleys get some of what's coming to them.


	23. Chapter 23

Tiniest Wish: A Birthday Surprise, Part 23.

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life but has he made enough changes? And… how far will new friendships go to further these changes? Italics – flashback. /Parsletongue/

_As he watched all of it, Harry felt his chest constrict. He couldn't believe this.  
In fact, he was almost light headed with disbelief, until Draco and Millicent  
came up on either side and loudly wished: "Happy Birthday, Harry."_

_On cue, the small orchestra, setting in an even deeper portion of the so called 'pit'  
that circled the stage, began to play the traditional birthday melody, and over  
a thousand voices picked up the tune. Out of all of them, however,  
he easily discerned the Professor's rich baritone  
and turned to meet the Professor's gaze._

**A Birthday Surprise, **

During the song, Lady Malfoy made her way down to the stage and joined her son, Miss Bulstrode, and their overwhelmed guest of honor.

To her surprise, Miss Bulstrode appeared quite different than she had seemed in young Harry's memories of the girl, and Narcissa had not missed the long look of interest that Harry had been giving the girl as the curtains lifted. It was just such a look from Draco that had finally convinced her to choose Miss Parkinson for her son, but Narcissa was not quite certain if Harry's unconscious interest would be enough to sway the decision in the girl's favor.

In their brief interview with Miss Bulstrode and her mother, Narcissa had found the girl blunt and heavy handed, lacking grace and subtlety, despite the many etiquette, grace, dance, and music lessons that her mother had boasted of. Yet, of all of the appropriate young ladies Narcissa had interviewed, Miss Bulstrode seemed to be the only one with a trace of wit, intelligence, or ambition. In truth, those qualities seemed to be among the primary reasons that her father was trying to push her into an arranged marriage – before it became clear how few of her native qualities had been inherited from the superficially attractive but dull-witted man. If Narcissa were looking for an assistant for Draco or Harry, she had no doubt that the young lady would have been perfect, but for a wife. No. Narcissa had been absolutely certain that Miss Bulstrode should have been nothing more to Harry than a place holder until she could find the appropriate match – until the young woman stepped on stage.

Awkward at first, Miss Bulstrode surprised everyone watching as she seemed to blossom into her role, rising to match Harry's greater skill in their every interaction. Alone, her grace was less certain, but when they were together – for some inexplicable reason, the young woman gained something. The question of what she gained and how Narcissa could best make use of it would have to wait for another day, however, for Narcissa had guests to attend.

Quickly finding his abhorrent aunt's eyes as she leaned in to give Harry a gentle hug, Narcissa smirked softly. She knew that Harry would probably think that the party was her gift to him, but she and Lucius had a much greater surprise waiting backstage for Harry: a surprise that she was certain the Dursley's were not going to like in the slightest.

"Harry, would you like to say something?"

When the normally subservient child failed to answer, Narcissa glanced down to find him staring out at the audience, entranced. Catching his hand and squeezing it gently, Narcissa drew his attention back and asked, "Harry, Dear, is there anything you would like to say to your guests?"

For the briefest moment, Narcissa caught her breath as a glimmer of deep seemingly unquenchable pain then seething anger passed through his bright emerald eyes before he nodded and the glimmer faded into a gossamer shield just behind the still glowing innocence in the child's eyes.

"If I may?" Harry asked with hesitation, seeming more like himself, although Narcissa suddenly suspected that what he was about to say might be very surprising. Nevertheless, she really didn't have any reason to deny him the opportunity, despite a sudden feeling of misgiving that the uncharacteristic glimmer gave her.

"Certainly, would you like me to cast a sonorous?"

"No, Ma'am, thank you. I'll be heard." He answered with odd confidence.

Taking several steps further upstage, Harry noticeably scanned the balconies, intentionally making eye contact with as many as he could before he began to speak.

"Your Majesty, Lord and Lady Malfoy, Professor Snape, My Friends, My House, My Many Guests," he began in a voice that carried to every seat without seeming as if he had raised his voice at all. "Thank you for coming to both my recital and my first birthday. I only hope you can understand how special this celebration is to me. There are several people, whom I would like to thank, but in particular, I would like to express my greatest thanks to the people whom I was placed with as a child, my biological Aunt Petunia Evans Dursley; my Uncle by marriage, Vernon Dudley Dursley; and my cousin, Dudley Vernon Dursley. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Duddley, would you please stand?"

When Harry paused as he heard Draco give a scandalized hiss from behind him and turned to give his friend a reassuring glance, Narcissa was stunned to see a look of predatory pleasure cross his face before he turned back to continue. Glancing at Draco's confused expression with a quelling look, Narcissa shook her head slightly to indicate that she wasn't certain where the child was headed with his comments either.

"I sincerely doubt that I would have been able to truly appreciate this evening if they had ever relented from their strict expectations to indulge me with birthday party when I was younger. Instead, from my earliest memories, I have dreamt of having a birthday party. Watching year after year, as my cousin blew out his birthday candles, hoping fruitlessly that I would learn to control my bouts of accidental magic - though I did not know what they were then – so that I could earn my birthday, filled me with a incredible longing to believe that I was worthy of such a celebration, a longing to know that I matter to someone enough that they would even remember the day, and a longing to have others share it with me."

As he spoke, the aching sincerity of his words reached every member of his audience and caused them all to turn, in growing anger, to the Dursleys who were still standing and staring at him with aghast shock. Only Severus was not pausing to listen to the child's words as he made his way to the stage, hearing something in the child's voice he was not certain the suddenly bold child was ready to face. When Harry continued speaking, only Draco and Millicent failed to turn back as the Dursleys, who could seem to feel the Slytherins' eyes on them, paled as they quickly discerned the anger and near hatred that they saw there.

"That longing," he paused to stare at his Aunt and Uncle with a look of sad reproach, before he finished in a tight almost breathless voice, "has finally been quenched… And for that, I must thank you. Even as I was stepping out onto the stage this evening, I was afraid that Lady Malfoy had gone to all of the incredible efforts that she has – only to be disappointed when no one cared enough to show up." At his guests sudden rumbling, the astonishing little child held up a shaking hand and extemporized, "But, you came, and in doing so, have made this a birthday beyond all of my dreams. Even if I live to be as old as Merlin, I am absolutely sure that I will remember this above and beyond all others. For that, I thank you. I thank you and ask that you please stay for the wonderful festivities that Lady Malfoy has arranged. Lord Malfoy, his family, and Professor Snape kindly took me in at the holidays – and showed me my first true Christmas - so I know where of I speak when I say that there are undoubtedly many fabulous delicacies and wondrous entertainments that she has waiting for you. Thank you again for coming."

Even after Harry finished speaking, his guests and his hosts were frozen in disturbed bewilderment. The majority of his guests had always believed that the boy-who-lived had been raised in a pampered environment – not one where he would be raised to doubt his worth so deeply. His housemates, though they had heard his pledge and confession, had never realized that he would have even been denied birthdays and Christmases. Lord and Lady Malfoy were suddenly re-examining their perceptions of the child, both having believed that, though he had some traces of his Gryffindor heritage, his early childhood had sapped him of that volatility. Draco and Millicent were torn between wanting to cause serious injury to the Dursleys for taking away something so precious from their friend and doing what they could to make sure that he never went another year without a birthday, while the remainder of his suitemates stared at him as if they didn't know him, wondering why he had never said a thing about not having holidays and birthdays to them. Only Harry, Severus, and the Dursleys were finally moving.

Harry was shaking as he quietly edged downstage as though he could fade out of sight from his guests by suddenly moving into the shadows. He couldn't figure out what had come over him. He really couldn't. One minute, he had intended to just thank everyone for coming when he didn't believe they would and then the next he was getting really angry for believing that they wouldn't, but for the first time the anger hadn't been at himself… as it always had been before. In the past, when he had been told that no one would want to visit him, he had just accepted it as a given. That no one wanted to remember the birthday of a boy who kept doing such freaky things – a given. A given - that why he had lost his birthdays, in the first place, was because he couldn't stop doing freaky things.

But, now, he knew they weren't freaky things. He knew what they were and that being able to do them didn't make him evil like the Dursleys said, and when that was the only thing that he had done wrong -because now he knew from talking to some of the other muggle-raised slytherins that muggle children didn't get as much work in a week as his Uncle Vernon gave him in a day – he knew that he had never, never done anything to warrant losing his birthday. He had never even thrown the kind of tantrums that Dudley did, and his birthdays had been lavish by Surrey standards, while he had to steal a one of Dudley's half melted birthday candles (because Dudley never could blow them out the first or second time) from the trash if he wanted to have a candle that he could light by himself at midnight if he wanted any sort of birthday remembrance at all. Lately, he hadn't even wanted that because it had stung to believe that no one cared and that it was his fault for being so freaky. He knew, now, that it wasn't his fault, that the Malfoy's cared enough to give him a nice birthday, that his professor cared enough to give him a home, that he wasn't freaky, and that they were the ones who were wrong, who had always been wrong, and only because they were just mean all the way through… And, it made him angry.

He had been frustrated, disappointed, upset, but he had never allowed himself to be angry before… at least not angry enough that he was a little mad; but, he had been more than a little mad- he'd practically been crazy to let himself say the things he did. That was the first rule of the Dursleys' house that Harry absolutely had no right to say anything embarrassing to or about his relatives, especially not in public. Heck, they didn't even want to be with him grocery shopping, but would hand him a list and wander the store with their own basket picking up little delicacies just for them, like bacon and eggs and cookies and sweetbreads – and join him at the front of the store when they were done just so they wouldn't have to be embarrassed by him in public. So, now he had really done it and gone all out, not only embarrassing them in public but with private family stuff that rule one said he should never say. He had been so stupid and cheeky, how could he forget himself like that? He knew the answer to his own question though because the truth of it was eating away in his gut.

He had been angry, the mad kind of angry, and he still was. He was angry enough that if they came near him right now, he just knew he would hex them all over the place, and then he would get thrown out of Hogwarts, and he would have to go back to them, and then things would really get it. And, that thought really made him mad. It was a big ball bitter acidy feeling that just kept rolling over and over into his stomach as he thought about it. It rolled over and over and over in his stomach until he thought it would never stop, and that scared him. Lady Malfoy had put so much effort into the party for him and he didn't want to ruin it, but he was so mad that he felt like he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming his hatred at his relatives. He wanted to be, even for a second, as mean to them as they had been to him and it was a sickening thought. He wasn't a Dursley; hadn't they always told him that? He shouldn't want to be like that. His anger just rolled over more at that thought – so much so that he didn't notice the curtains fluttering and snapping behind him.

He wasn't really noticing anything at that point, not seeing the dismay on Draco's face or Professor Snape approaching. It wasn't that he had his eyes closed or that things had gotten blurry like they did when he took his glasses off, but it was like he had felt when he was dancing – swept up just in the way it felt. The only thing he was truly aware of was the burning ball of anger twisted in his stomach and made him feel almost like he would have to sick up in front of everybody to get rid of it. Swallowing gulps of air, he fought to keep it down as he continued to back toward the curtains sot that he could at least be hidden when he did purge it.

/Little One/ Severus hissed, after casting a silencing spell around them.

He used Ahhsitha's parsletongue term for Harry – hoping to break through the child's fit. So far, though, calling to the child, shaking his shoulder, and squeezing his tiny, tightly clenched fists had no effect. If this did not work, the only option he saw left was legillimency, but that was a truly dangerous route when dealing with traumatized children who were just as likely to retreat even further within themselves to avoid what the mind naturally viewed as an assault.

/Little One, speak back to the poison maker. Your poison maker travels your path with you./ Severus shook his head at the odd translation that speaking parsletongue gave his assurance to the child that he was there and watched Harry for any signs of awarness.

The child's fists spasmed once – giving Severus hope that the child heard him.

/Little One… Little One… I travel your path./ Severus repeated the pattern several times, hoping to soothe the child; _I'm here._

"S-i-r?" Harry finally asked as his eyes seemed to clear.

"Yes, Harry. I'm here."

"Sir. I-I …" the child's voice sounded pitifully frightened despite his earlier bravado.

"Tell me what's wrong, Harry, and I will help you as best as I can."

"I feel like I have to sick up, but there's nothing to sick up –nothing inside me- but heat- and feeling bad- and … and… I w-ant – I feel like I want – t-o…" Harry started to gasp for air as he tried to speak.

"Take your time, Harry. I have no intention of rushing you or judging you."

"Re-ally?"

"I swear to you, Harry. I believe I understand what you are feeling at the moment, and I will not judge you for it."

"Because of your father?" Harry asked uncomfortably, but he had to be certain that the Professor really did know because if the Professor really didn't understand - and Harry told him – the wizard might just decide that he didn't want to adopt Harry anymore.

"Yes. Because of my father, I know what you are feeling, but I believe it would be better for you to acknowledge it for yourself."

"I. Can't." Harry knew it wasn't a good rule that the Dursleys had ingrained in him, but it was too hard to break… more than he already had. "Please, I can't."

"Very well, Harry," Severus responded with a soft nod as he reached out to capture one of the child's tiny fists. "You are angry. Justifiably angry at everything they have said and done to you for as long as you can remember."

The child stilled as Severus slowly unclenched his hand and rubbed his palm were Harry's nails had bitten into his skin. Taking the child's silence as agreement, he continued.

"So angry that it probably terrifies you with the way it feels. You may even want to reach out and hurt them – to treat them the way they treated you so that they would know how much it hurts."

As he said it, Harry's fist tightened convulsively, but it was clenched less tightly the second time and was little trouble for Severus to peel open as he spoke.

"But, as much as you may want them to feel that, to understand that. You know that it will not matter. That nothing. Nothing. You. Say. Or. Do. Can. Change. The. Past. Or, make them treat you the way that they should have, and if you do act like them without a good reason – it would make you worse than anything they have ever accused you of…"

The second fist was clenched more tightly, but Severus's gentle fingers had soon pried it open and was massaging the skin that would have been bleeding if Harry's nails had been one trace sharper.

"It would make you like them."

Harry stiffened at the words, but Severus pressed on.

"Am I right?"

"Y-eeee-ssss." The child answered with an almost breathless howl.

"I understand, Harry. I want you to listen to me, though. What I am about to say might not seem like it makes sense, but it is true nevertheless. The way you are feeling right now – as horrible and ugly and painful of a feeling as it feels – is right."

"What? No. No. I shouldn't feel this way. This is wrong!" Harry protested, hating the thought that his Professor wanted him to feel this way.

"No. Harry. You shouldn't have been made to feel this way. No child. No. Child. Should. But – given the way that you have been treated- it is perfectly normal and right for you to have these feelings. Think of the fizzy whizzies that you and Draco had at the end of the year party. What happened then they were shaken and the caps were taken off?"

"A big jet of fizzy foam shot in the air, but that was fun." Harry answered closing his eyes to picture the expressions on his friend's faces as the bottled drinks erupted with multi-colored foam that shot at least three feet high. As he focused on the memory, the blaze in his stomach started to ease so he thought about it harder – about the way Draco laughed when Lukins used the foam sliding off his glass to paint a rainbow mustache over his lip – not knowing that the foam colors would not come off for days – the way Millicent cocked her head oddly–trying not to laugh at him - as she studied the clown nose he had dabbed on himself with the foam, even Ahhsitha had found the colored nose funny when he came down to ask her advice on how he might get it off. No one else seemed to know, which became apparent when Professor Snape spent the rest of the week wearing a rainbow streak across his cheek like war paint.

"Exactly. Harry, I know. I am just using it to demonstrate the principle." Severus stroked his palm gently, pleased that the memory was helping to sooth the child. "Liken yourself to the to the fizzy. Your atrocious aunt, unctuous uncle, and crude cousin have kept you under pressure for so long, shaking you up when ever they got the chance, but you have never been able to … take the lid off, and now you have. There's bound to be a bit of an eruption."

"But, I don't want to erupt." Harry whinged for the first time in Severus's memory. "It's my birthday and I don't want to ruin it because of them. I don't even want them here. They never wanted this for me. They never wanted me to have friends. To have someone who cared enough the think I was worth a party. They never wanted me to have a party, or presents, or someone to sing the birthday song for me – like you did - and now that I have one, I just know …"

"You just know what Harry?"

"They'll just want to ruin it for me. Probably want to drag me home and put me in my cupboard for the rest of the summer… probably without food and just a bucket to use for a toilet. I…"

Before Severus could interrupt and promise that he would never let that happen, Vernon Dursley came up from behind, intentionally bumping into the professor as he pushed by to grab Harry's arm and jerk it roughly, growling: "To right you are. You're never going back to that freak school if I have anything to say about it. We send you away a barely manageable little beast and here you come back a viscious, malicious, little snipe trying to ruin what should have been a happy event, and just proving that we were right all along. A little freak like you doesn't deserve a birthday, and trust me, you won't have one ever again. You'll be in you cupboard so long that you won't even remember what a party is when you come out, and you certainly won't whinge about what we have or haven't given you – just because you're some kind of freaky charity case. We don't take the dole from anyone no matter how high and mighty so you can forget your tutoring while your at it."

Not aware that the professor had dropped the delimited silencing charm that had prevented Dursley from hearing them as soon as the fat oaf had jostled him, Dursley was shouting as he jerked the child back and forth and only stopped when he felt Severus's wand pushed directly into his throat.

"Unhand Harry, you worthless piece of human debris. I said: unhand him. Now."

"What do you think you can do in front of all these witnesses, eh?" Vernon asked smugly. "It's assault plain and simple, and there are a score of witnesses who can say that they saw you put your wand at my throat when I was just trying to take that filthy little mongrel home." Turning his attention back to Harry, he snarled: "Marge was right about you, runt."

"Turn around, Dursley. Now." Severus ordered the repugnant pig as he watched Harry pale.

"Why?"

"I want you to take a look at your supposed witnesses."

When Dursley turned, he was immediately terrified by the sight of a stage filled with young witches and wizards from the nearest seats to the stage – all with their wands pointed at him and dangerous expressions on their faces. As soon as his eyes focused, he could see beyond them to the mezzanines and balconies and was able to pick out dozens of adult wizards with their wands directed at him.

"Now, now. Can't you see that he was trying to prevent me from taking the boy home?" Dursley coaxed loudly. "Surely, you can't expect Petunia and I to let the child get away with embarrassing his family in public? He needs to go home where he can be soundly disciplined. Wouldn't you do the same with your own children if they tried a stunt like this?" Dursley appealed to the angry audience.

"We heard you, you fat clot." Dolohov accused.

"What? No, there was a spell when I came up. You couldn't have heard me."

"You utter moron. I cast the spell. Do you think I can't cancel my own spell?" Severus snarled.

"It doesn't matter what you heard. I'm the boy's guardian and he's coming with me now."

"No, he's not, on either count." Severus sneered before turning back to Harry had backed away and was now flanked on all sides by his suite mates, all of whom had their wands aimed at the filthy muggle at close range. For the briefest second, Severus hoped that the vile man would make the wrong move and discover the torture of being subject to countless simultaneous spells. Of course, it would likely prove fatal, but a great many of the injuries that the fat oaf had forced on Harry would have been fatal if it were not for his metamorphmagus abilities.

"I am sorry to spoil the surprise Harry; I had hoped that you might have memory of one pleasant evening with your relatives before I whisked you away, but..." Severus explained as he slid a hand up to the French gorget at his throat and twisted the Prince family emblem until it opened like a locket letting a shrunken scroll of parchment fall like a snowflake into his palm. Enlarging it, he broke the seal and handed it to Harry to read.

"Happy Birthday, Harry." Severus commented when the child read it quickly and looked up at him with awe-filled eyes. The words were barely out of his mouth when he was staggered by Harry's sudden unexpected leap and almost strangling hug.

"Thank you. Thank. You. Thank You. Oh. Thank. You. Thank. You. Thank. You. Thank You. Oh. Thank. You. Thank. You." Harry sang a litany of gratitude into Severus's shoulder not stopping, even when Severus explained to Dursley.

"This afternoon, I had the privilege of petitioning for the guardianship and adoption of Harry. After I offered pensieved memories of Harry's physical and emotional condition on his first day at Hogwarts, reports from Mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey, and the testimony of a variety of witnesses, the Board for the Security, Safety, and Welfare of Wizarding Children has granted me the great honor of Harry's custody and guardianship. If, in a year's time, he is still amenable, it will be my privilege to adopt Harry and present him to our world as my heir and son."

"You're insane. I'll fight this in court and then you'll never the boy again. You can bring all the witnesses you want, but they won't hold up in a real court of law. You're flakes the lot of you, and you'll see: they'll throw you out of court and laugh in your face. You mark my word. There's not one of you freaks who's testimony will stand up in a court of law."

"I beg to differ." A strong elderly woman's voice disputed as she moved forward, pausing as various witches and wizards moved out of her way. "I believe you will find that my testimony will hold a great deal of weight in a court of law."

Snarling as he spun angrily on the voice, Dursley staggered back as he came face to face Queen Elizabeth, the Monarch of Muggle Britain. Too angered by the turn of events and too stunned to realize the disrespect he was showing her majesty, Vernon stomped up to her and challenged, "Just what do you think you're doing, mixing with this bunch of freaks?" to be promptly swamped by her Majesty's personal guards and thrown to the floor.

"As a Queen, Sir, I have many privileges including the receipt of choice invitations to special events in theWizarding Community. There is also another privilege that I believe I will quite enjoy." her Majesty finished enigmatically before she chastised "While I despise finding myself in agreement with you on any matter; you were correct on one score: what we witnessed was assault. Gentlemen, arrest Mr. Dursley for verbal, physical, and malicious assault on a minor. Take his wife into custody as well for gross neglect. Their child may go to a children's home, but given the role models he has been raised by, perhaps an institution for the wayward boys or criminally minded children would be preferable."

"Elizabeth, may I have a word with you?" Narcissa asked the muggle queen sweetly, reminding many of the muggleborn guests that the Queen's title was rather honorary in the Wizarding community who had not recognized a member of Royalty since the last of the Gaunt heirs came to disgrace decades earlier.

"Certainly, Narcissa," her Majesty responded with equanimity. They stepped aside for several seconds discussing matters behind a silencing charm until the queen nodded and they returned to the cluster of curious watchers.

With an insincere smile that only Petunia seemed unable to recognize the danger of, Narcissa swept over to crumbling woman who was on the verge of breaking down with her arms wrapped around her son, and asked "Petunia, Dear, I would really rather not see you go to jail for the remainder of your life, and I believe that I have persuaded your Queen to drop the charges against you, but she would like to be certain that you are appropriately chastened for your neglect of young Lord Potter."

"Lor-d Pot-ter?" Petunia stuttered in horror.

"Yes, he is the sole heir to an Ancient and Noble peerage in the Wizarding Community. If you were to go to court for Harry's mistreatment, it would undoubtedly be a Wizarding Court and you would not escape Azkaban."

"Azkaban… the dementors…" Petunia cried in terror.

"Yes, your sister told you something about them then?" Narcissa pushed on before the woman could answer, "but, if you will do as I ask, I can keep you out of both the court and the prison."

"You c-can?" Petunia asked in a quavering voice.

"Yes."

"What do I need to do?" she begged with desperate hope.

"Simply drink the potion in this little vial." Narcissa summoned a vial from back stage and handed it to insipid woman.

Eying the potion fearfully, Petunia jerked a hand up to cover her mouth and shook her head fearfully.

"Wh-wh-at will it do?"

"It will let you allow you to go home… with your son." Narcissa answered coaxingly.

"No, I mean to me?"

"The potion in it is perfectly safe; it will not make you sick, or cause you any physical pain whatsoever. It will merely ensure that you do not endanger Harry further by disrupting the blood wards that were placed on the house years ago."

Petunia glanced worriedly at the witch before uncorking the vial and drinking it quickly.

When she was finished, she glanced back at Lady Malfoy and asked the question that she probably should have before she took it: "How?"

"By insuring that you never refuse Harry your home. The potion was simply the sealant for a spell that I cast earlier this evening. For the next seven years, until every cell of your body has renewed itself, the spell can not be broken."

"A sp-sp-ell?"

"Yes, for the next seven years, whenever you are in your son's presence, you will only be able to see him and recognize him as your nephew. You will treat him as you have treated Harry all these years, show him the same tenderness and care that you have shown your sister's child to date, and you will not be able to remember who he is until he is no longer in your vicinity- whether he has gone to another room or another city. Once he's out of your presence, you will remember in fine detail every abuse you've heaped on your precious son.

But, there's no need to worry that he'll run away; your son has already slipped a cupcake that doctored with a similar potion that sealed a perfectly legal linked spell, which will do nothing other than to compel him to stay with you until he reaches majority. It's often used by pureblood families with difficult children. He literally will not be able to even consider the thought of trying to escape your treatment or trying to act out against it. For perhaps the first time in his life, he will behave as docilely young Harry, for all the good that it will do him."

"You Witch!" Petunia shrieked vilely and threw the vial at Narcissa.

"Oh, one more thing." Narcissa commented to Petunia with a smirk. "I have explained to Elizabeth how detrimental a public trial could be to Harry so she has agreed to drop the assault charges in favor of pursuing only the charges of corporate embezzlement that Lucius discovered while he was reviewing Grunning accounts. Lucius tells me that the company has already filed a criminal complaint and intends to see that it is a very public trial. If it's any comfort, Elizabeth has promised to see that it is expedited so that you will not have to deal with the nosy reporters and scandal mongers for very long, suffer a long wait to worry about the outcome, or waste what little savings your family has on barristers fees. I realize that things will be difficult particularly as you have never held a job and that you are such a good mother that I'm certain I don't have to tell you this, but do try to remember that during these trying times, with his father absent, he'll need his mother more than ever."

Before Petunia could say another word, Narcissa snapped for Dobby and ordered the elf to take the remainder of the Dursley family home, then to summon and retrieve all of Harry's personal belongings as well as the belongings he should have had but were given to Dudley instead. There were numerous elf spells that would allow the creature to discern the difference.

Turning back into the hostess, Narcissa smiled brightly at Harry's guests and suggested that they adjourn to dinner and give the new family a few moments alone. Somewhat in awe of her machinations, and stunned by the events of the evening almost everyone immediately trailed out to give the Potion Master and Harry their privacy. Only Tonks lingered behind for a few moments.

Placing a gentle hand on Severus's shoulder, opposite where Harry's head and awkeard shako were still laying against the potion master's shoulder. When he turned to acknowledge her, trying not to disturb the child - she murmured as softly as she could: "Congratulations on two counts."

"Two counts?" Severus raised a questioning eyebrow at her ambiguous comment.

"The answer is yes." She responded simply and left to join the revelers as he stumbled over to the stair and sank, in disbelief, onto the second step bracing his back against the wall and pulling the emotionally spent child a little closer to his chest.


	24. Chapter 24

Tiniest Wish: Getting Unsettled, Part 24.

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but as they are both about to discover, changes aren't always comfortable. Italics – flashback.

_Nymphadora placed a gentle hand on Severus's shoulder,  
opposite where Harry's head and awkward shako were still laying  
against the potion master's shoulder. When he turned to acknowledge her,  
trying not to disturb the child - she murmured as softly as she could:_  
"_Congratulations on two counts."_

"_Two counts?" Severus raised a questioning eyebrow at her ambiguous comment._

"_The answer is yes." She answered simply and left to join the revelers  
as he stumbled over to the stair and sank, in disbelief, onto the second step  
bracing his back against the wall and pulling the emotionally spent child  
a little closer to his chest._

**Getting Unsettled**

Harry tapped softly on the door before entering.

"Sir, are you awake?" He asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Harry. Come in."

"Thank you, Sir." Harry used his elbow to turn the flat handle and pushed the door open with his shoulder, pleased that the Professor preferred the set up over the round knobs at the Dursley's that made it so awkward when he was carrying something.

"How are you this morning? Did you sleep well?" Severus asked curiously. He had really expected Harry to have some qualms about moving into Spinner's end with him, but so far there was no sign that the child missed the luxury of Hogwarts and the Malfoy's… or even the Dursley's home, which somewhat embarrassingly had less squalor than Spinner's end.

"Fine Sir, thank you." Harry answered in a happy tone as he settled a tray on the professor's bedside table.

Glancing at the tray that Harry had just settled, Severus sighed, scooted further into the center of the bed, and patted the bed beside him.

"Sit, Harry."

"Sir?" Harry glanced at the tray and back at the professor. The wizard had sounded weary and disappointed, worrying Harry, even though he knew he had done his best. There really hadn't been too much food in the house to work with, but he still felt that he had done a credible job, pulling together the proscuitto and goat cheese rolls, white pudding slices, fire-whiskey soufflé, and asparagus frittata. He had even found a few just barely ripe blood oranges in the green house and had squeezed them for a small (okay, very small) juice glass.

"Harry, you really need not have put yourself out to cook." Severus began gently pausing as he watched the child wilting.

"Oh, I… you don't… Sir, I can take whatever you don't like off and re-plate it."

"Harry, we do have a house elf, you realize?"

"Oh," Harry wilted further. The professor must not like any of it or he would have at least … He should have realized the stuff that the kind of stuff he used to make for the Dursleys wouldn't be good enough. "Yes, Sir."

Harry rose and started to pick up the tray but stopped when Professor Snape's hand softly caught his forearm.

"Harry, what is it?"

"Nothing, Sir." Harry shrugged before settling into his 'slytherin face'.

"Harry, I was under the impression that we have established that you have no talent with lying. So, I will repeat myself: what is wrong?"

Harry shrugged again, but answered: "It's just that… I hoped you would like it. There wasn't too much around, but …" Harry trailed off for a second, realizing that it sounded like an excuse.

"Go on," Severus urged.

"I – I thought…"

"You thought?"

"I thought I did a good job, Sir. I thought you might like it, but you don't and … I'm sorry. I won't cook anymore." Harry continued sadly.

"Harry, I, frankly, do not see how you could come to the conclusion that I do not like what you have made when I have yet to even sample it, but that is not the issue that I had wished to discuss with you."

"It isn't?"

"No, Harry it isn't."

"But…" Harry stopped when Professor Snape laid a finger lightly across his lips.

"Give me a moment to explain. Harry, I have absolutely no objection to you cooking, on occasion, if you would like to. In fact, I think it is an excellent skill for young wizards to have, despite traditional gender roles and old world, pureblood thinking; there will undoubtedly be a time when you are on your own, without the benefit of a house elf, witch, or restaurateur, and I would like to believe that when that time comes, you will be able to adequately feed yourself. My mother shared that view, and I have always been grateful that she ensured that I had the skill. However, Harry, while I would encourage you to occasionally practice the skill, you are no longer at the Dursleys. You are not a house elf, and you should not feel the responsibility to comport yourself as one. When I am hungry, I do have the ability to procure my own sustenance or ask that Tipp do so for me."

"I know that, Sir, but Tipp is …" Harry hesitated, not wanting to mention that the house elf was quite busily engaged in renovating Spinner's End at the professor's request because he could tell that the wizard had been embarrassed about the condition he had let his manor get into and had worried that Harry hadn't liked it. He shouldn't have been worried though, Harry thought it was brilliant. He liked the fact that the outside and the first set of front presented a false decrepit front. It was so much easier to tell what people were like when they underestimated you. And, the real rooms that only he, the professor, and invited guests could floo into, from only the front room's floo, were – in his opinion- brilliantly hidden. Who would think of standing in their false, run down sitting-room floo, that he or she had just reached by the floo address "Spinner's end" and from that floo, request "Spinner's end", again? Brilliant.

And the inner, hidden manor, that the professor had been the most embarrassed about because they didn't have the 'luxury' of the Malfoy's or "even the wretched Dursleys" – the professor couldn't quite get that that was what Harry liked the most about it. Spinner's end was real. It felt real… and like it was okay for him to be there. At the Malfoy's he always felt clumsy and grubby, like he would ruin whatever bit of furniture he came in contact with, and at the Dursley's, it had always felt like he shouldn't even breath because he would be fouling their sterile, barren environment, even though he had been the one with the primary responsibility of keeping it that way. Spinner's End felt right: it felt like he could touch the banister without scarring its perfect luster, it felt like he could move a chair without being chastised for ruining the appearance of the room, it felt like … like freedom and like it was right for him to be there and like he could fit in there. It felt like Spinner's End was the way it was supposed to be, and frankly it made Harry a little nervous that the professor was working Tipp so much to 'bring it up to snuff'. Would he still fit in when the house elf was done?

"Harry, I am sorry that I have let you feel that you have to take up the slack for Tipp while he is bringing the manor back to rights. Please realize that I fully intend to make certain that you have everything you need and that it is not your responsibility to tend for me." Professor Snape murmured in a soft, sad tone.

"But…" Harry hesitated, knowing what his Uncle would have said about a boy who liked to cook… and dance ballet.

"Harry," the professor murmured and shook his head; he truly had no idea how to encourage the child to believe that he would not be expected to take on the responsibilities that his loathsome relatives had forced on him.

Somehow, though, Harry felt like the professor really hadn't known what he was going to say, just like he hadn't seemed to understand that the way Spinner's End was – now – made Harry feel comfortable being here. At least, he knew the wizard wouldn't laugh at him because Professor Snape had already admitted that he was glad for his mother's cooking lessons, and he seemed to enjoy dancing, too. Surely, he wouldn't think the mean things about Harry that Vernon Dursley had said when he learned that Harry had been practicing ballet and liked it. The only way he would know for sure was to ask though, so Harry decided to take a chance, if only to know for certain how the professor thought.

"Sir, if you don't want me to cook, I won't, but I – I really, really like cooking – even if its only for myself, so I'd still like to if it's okay?"

"You do?" Severus asked astonished; he had been certain that the child would have resented all of the supposed 'duties' that he had been given from very early childhood.

"Yes, Sir. It's like potions. No matter what my aunt and uncle would say, when I made something good, I could tell, and it's fun to experiment with different things to see how the tastes change – like adding mustard to cherry chutney. It doesn't sound like it should be there, but when you add it, it makes the chutney taste better, and if you add a dash of orange juice and a teeny tiny bit of clove, it makes it good as a sauce for pork roast. Potions are like that too, I can see when I do them right. They work if I do. No matter what anyone else says- if I did it right, it works; and, there are so many more interesting potions ingredients that I'd never heard of before and their effects can be changed in such interesting ways like stirring in a different direction or putting the bottle out in the moon light on the night of a full moon or cooking them in a copper cauldron instead of an iron one – that I don't think I could ever run out of experiments to try. And, if they work, they can help people, too, but if they don't work, then they just give me something else to try, and I…" Harry was forced to trail of as the professor again rested a finger on his lips. This time, though, Harry was quick to catch the shine of warm amusement in the professor's eyes and relaxed.

"Very well," Severus answered with a slight smile, "I understand perfectly, and as long as it is your preference to do so, you may. Also, while I doubt that Tipp will have sufficient time to restore the potions lab, when we return to Hogwarts, I think we should be able to schedule additional time in the potions lab for some one on one tutoring in the subject."

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly, not realizing that he had bounced on the bed a bit. "But, I thought you didn't want to ..."

"When I thought your sole interest in potions was to please or impress me, I didn't. That is not the strongest reason to study a subject and often leads to resenting the subject as soon as it becomes difficult, but you seem to take personal satisfaction from the topic – a trait which I share in abundance – and do not seem deterred by the prospect of difficult subject matter or the reality that not all potions – no matter how much time and effort are put into them – will come to fruition. With that mindset, I believe you will be a student well worth the exposure to additional materials and information. Now, I suggest that you see to your own breakfast and allow me to enjoy the fruit of your efforts before it gets cold."

"Okay, Sir." Harry rose carefully as Severus pulled the tray into his lap and started to head out with a gratifying smile, only to pause at the door as he remembered something.

"Sir, about the potions lab? Could maybe Tipp start on that first, instead of the rest of the house? I – kind of like it - the way it is. It feels like I can relax here and even sit down on the couch with out getting a dirty look. I mean it's not messy or anything, and I won't start getting messy, I promise. But, if it doesn't bother you to much, could you ask Tipp not to change things too-too much?"

"Very well, Harry, I will consider it." Severus murmured with humor. Every time that he thought that the child could not surprise him further, he was proven wrong.

"Thank you, Sir." Harry turned back to the door but stopped suddenly and slapped his forehead before turning back with a sheepish expression.

"Harry?"

"Sir, I forgot to tell you that Miss Tonks is in the sitting room. She asked me to inform you that she's 'a naturally impatient person and will feel compelled too come up and get you if you don't hurry along', but that if she does it will cause a 'significant delay' in arriving at Flourish and Blotts for our school shopping."

Rolling his eyes and sighing at Harry's barely suppressed giggle, Severus nodded and gestured Harry out with his fork as he chewed a slice of the proscuitto and goat's cheese roll that Harry had prepared. The child was really quite a talented cook and Severus suspected, from the child's earlier passionate defense of his interest in potions, that it would bode well for Harry's success in the subject. Savoring a small spoonful of the smooth, but rich firewhiskey soufflé, Severus decided that this cooking talent would bode very well for the child's success.

Harry was still in the doorway, peeking back as surreptitiously as possible for a child who had no real reason to be standing in the door way - to see if he actually liked the breakfast, so Severus smiled broadly as he nibbled a bit of the frittata, then sipped the blood orange juice –enjoying the bitter tang. After a second round of bites, he gently ordered, "Harry, please tell Miss Tonks that I will be down momentarily and further, that you are not to become a messenger for her salacious comments."

"Yes, Sir." Harry answered, then scooted out of the room so his guardian wouldn't hear him giggling as he hurried down the hall.

Rolling his eyes at the echo of the child's giggling, Severus groused good naturedly that the audacious woman had nerve to threaten spoiling the best breakfast he had probably had in months. Still, he had no doubt that the young woman could probably be held to her word and lightly sped up the rate he was consuming the child's thoughtfully delivered breakfast in bed.

Finishing quickly, he leaned back into his pillows, and closed his eyes to enjoy a moment of relaxation before the day's events, in which he would likely have no chance to relax at all. He knew that accepting the Malfoys' offer to join them for their annual school shopping trip would mean tolerating the antics of both Narcissa and Miss Tonks as the young lady had been invited to several 'family' activities since Harry's birthday. The thought had been trying enough, as Severus had no idea what to make of the young woman, who had presumptuously accepted a proposal that he had not even tendered, yet, and on the basis of less than an hour's familiarity. Harry's bright smile at the invitation had been irrefutable, however, so Severus reluctantly agreed – not realizing that it would, once again, mean that Miss Tonks would be sent to retrieve him.

Nor had he realized that I would involve Harry being sent to his rooms with a message that contained a barely disguised bit of innuendo. He had no intention of allowing the infuriating witches to draw Harry into their machinations and would have to make certain that they understood this fact beyond all doubt: Harry was not to be used as a pawn, in any sense – even when they presumably believed that he would ultimately benefit from the outcome. As if considering Harry had drawn the child back to his door, Severus heard a soft tapping on his door.

"Come in," he murmured on a sigh and savored his last moment of relaxation before he would have to face reality and ready himself to face the agitating auror. Not opening his eyes as the tray was removed from his lap, Severus murmured his thanks and yawned softly.

His relaxation was shattered, however, when a light, but heavier weight than Harry's settled beside him on the bed and sharpened finger nails grazed his face as they pushed back his fringe. Flashing his eyes open, he was almost mesmerized by the musing look in Miss Tonks eyes as he felt her fingernails trail down the side of his cheek and dip into the collar of his sleeping robes to trace his left collar bone. Finally, coming to himself when they seemed ready to explore further, he caught the fingertips and glared at her.

"Miss Tonks."

"Severus."

"What may I ask, are you doing?"

"Oh, I just wanted to slip up and tell you that you're absolutely right."

"Indeed?"

"Oh, yes, I really should make it my preferred habit to deliver my 'slalacious propositions' personally," she affirmed, wiggling the fingers he'd caught to emphasize the word as she murmured salacious.

"Miss Tonks, it is hardly appropriate for a young witch to enter a gentlemen's sleeping chambers, without invitation, to _personally_ deliver salacious propositions, Severus commented with light mockery as he continued to hold her fingertips in a light grip and slid out the other side of the bed, before coming around to pull her up off the bed and resettle her in a straight backed chair beside the door, before finishing, "even if the gentlemen were one's intended."

"Maybe it's not entirely appropriate," she acknowledged as she watched him open a drawer of his bureau and pull out a straight edged razor and a self foaming brush, then continued, "But, it's more fun, and it at least got you to admit that you're my intended."

"How inappropriately Slytherin of you," Severus jousted, watching her in the mirror as she studied his profile, "but I must confess: I am somewhat curious. The title of your intended… does it take my intentions into consideration?"

"Of course, your intentions are taken into account either way. Either they match mind and I can move on to putting our intentions into practice, or they don't match and I am going to have to work on you bit by bit until they do." She answered without reserve.

"Hmmm… that is an interesting mix of Slytherin thinking and Gryffindor audacity, he mused as he finished distributing the shaving emollients outward from his Adam's apple to the sternocleidomastoid muscles of his neck. "So, if my intentions are to be, inevitably, be matched up , latch and bolt, warp and weft, with yours, perhaps, it would be beneficial to inform me of your intentions as you appear so very confident that my acquiescence is a foregone consclusion."

"I suppose that's fair enough." She agreed with an intriguing smile as she continued, "You went to school with Auntie Narcissa, didn't you? Just before mum's seventh year?"

"Approximately." He agreed, watching her profile for a reaction to the reference of his greater age.

"So, you may already know this, but my mum and my aunts each married for different reasons: Mum for love, Auntie B. for power, and Auntie Narcissa for prestige, and I suppose that's alright. At least, I can understand why; I'd like a bit of each myself, but it's not really my style to wait around for someone else to hand me what I want. Any way, I'd rather have the fun of going out and getting them for myself."

"Commendable, though it does beg the question, then, of why you would allow yourself to be drawn into an arranged marriage – if you intend to seek out love on your own. But, if love, power, and prestige are not your motivating pursuits, what would be your purpose in pursuing a marriage?"

Although she had initially favored him with a grin for his question, the extended silence that followed caused Severus to pause as he was drawing the razor upward under the curve of his jawline, and search her out in the mirror – to find her watching him with a wry expression and an arched eyebrow.

"A marriage? Well, that's somewhat difficult to answer because it's so subjective. Depending who my partner is, my expectations are bound to change dramatically. I might expect any number of things." She challenged light heartedly.

"Very well," he sighed, letting her see him rolling his eyes as he went back to shaving.

"What would be your purpose in pursuing a union with me?"

"Oh, then that's simple enough to answer." Her reflection grinned broadly at him, but the only true warning he had of her response was that the first word came out in a throaty tone that caught him unaware but held his attention completely as she murmured, "hip-rocking, scream-breaking, core-melting sex, among other things."

He was so startled by her comment that, at first, he did not even feel the bite of the razor blade at his surprised twitch when he turned to look at her directly. The glimmer of mischief in her eyes turning to concern as she stared at his throat drew his attention the area though and he cursed under his breath.

"Miss Tonks," He groused as he turned the charmed blade around to press the flat of the blade against the side of his throat to banish the blood and heal the nick.

"Miss Tonks, distracting me to the point I inadvertently slice my throat, will do little to further your stated objectives; therefore, I suggest that you cease your attempts to unnerve me and join Harry downstairs."

"Awww… You're sending me away." She pouted, sheepishly. "If I promise to behave, can I stay?"

"Absolutely not. If I am to accompany you and Harry to Diagon Alley, I shall need to change my attire."

"And here you were fussing at me for my salacious comments." She taunted.

"For your 'salacious propositions' was my exact wording, however my comment was neither salacious nor a proposition, merely a statement of fact. The distinction being that I was not attempting to imply anything inappropriate nor invite anything inappropriate. Now, if you would be kind enough to excuse yourself, so I may change?"

"Hmmm. You're playing hard to get: I like it. Most guys either drool over me, or try to convince me that they would be such a coupe."

"Well, if playing hard to get is a technique that you approve of; perhaps you should exercise it more on your own behalf."

"Awww, but if both of us is are, who's going to do the chasing?"

"And, a chase is mandatory, in your opinion?"

"Well, maybe not," she admitted almost reluctantly, "Unless –"

"Unless, what?"

"Unless, you run, Severus."

…

…

Her eyes flashed enthusiastically, as she asked, "Are you gonna run?"


	25. Chapter 25

Tiniest Wish: Unsettling Information, Part 25.

Rating: G

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but as they are both about to discover, changes aren't always comfortable. Italics – flashback. [_Brackets __and__ italics indicate cut and pastes from COS._

_Finishing quickly, he leaned back into his pillows, and closed his eyes  
to enjoy a moment of relaxation before the day's events, in which he would  
likely have no chance to relax at all. He knew that accepting the Malfoys' offer  
to join them for their annual school shopping trip would mean tolerating the  
antics of both Narcissa and Miss Tonks as the young lady had been invited  
to several 'family' activities since Harry's birthday. The thought had been  
trying enough, as Severus had no idea what to make of the young woman,  
who had presumptuously accepted a proposal that he had not even tendered,  
yet, and on the basis of less than an hour's familiarity. Harry's bright smile  
at the invitation had been irrefutable, however, so Severus reluctantly agreed..._

**Part 25**

Harry dug his heels in as an overdressed blond wizard, wearing gilt edged robes in forget-me-not blue with a matching pointed hat that reminded Harry rather of a dunce cap with bouncing gold tassels, grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward a table that Harry had just spotted. The table was surrounded by large pictures of the wizard with broad bright, spurious smiles of the sort that reminded Harry of the way his cousin would flash a roughly acceptable, brace straightened, and bleach whitened smile when he knew that his smile was likely to be more impressive than anything he could say. Dudley showed his teeth off a lot. Apparently the wizard liked to as well because his portraits seemed to be engaged in out posing each other – all winking- as they flashed ludicrously bright, almost iridescent smiles.

"Tut, Tut, Harry." The blonde wizard chastised lightly. "Readers will love a bashful hero, but will rarely forgive a reluctant hero who seems to drag his heels at the prospect of meeting them."

The foppish wizard chattered in Harry's ear as he continued to pull Harry toward the table where a [_short irritable man was dancing around the photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash._

"Sir, I hardly know what you are talking about." Harry countered in a voice that was a shade to irritated to sound properly slytherin.

Harry knew that he shouldn't let the man's behavior break his composure, but he really really didn't like being drug around like this. His uncle used to a to it a lot, and it never ended well for him. He really didn't like being pulled around at all.

"The cameras, Harry, the press. With you in the shot... with us, it's bound to make the front page."

A table of books nearby shuddered convulsively and dropped several books to the floor, but the blond fop took no notice as he stepped around behind Harry and caught Harry's other shoulder with his free hand, then tried to push Harry toward the table. This time it took Harry several steps before he was able to put enough weight behind his stance to stop their forward progress.

"Now, Now, Harry." The vexing wizard's voice became more imperative as he realized that several of his more impatient readers were beginning to notice and recognize Harry.

[_"It can't be Harry Potter?"_ one positively shouted and [_the crowd parted, whispering excitedly; _the wizard_ seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry's face burned as _the wizard _shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke._

["_Nice big smile, Harry." said _the wizard, _through his own gleaming teeth. "Celebrity is as celebrity does, and we certainly don't want your adoring public to think that you're ungrateful of their attentions._

Harry almost relented at that suggestion; he really didn't want anyone who had attended his birthday party to think he wasn't happy that they had come or that now he was being snobbish. But, as the wizard finally let go, only to throw his arm around Harry's shoulders and clamp him tightly into his side, that concern evaporated. Hadn't he just spent a whole week writing personal 'thank you' notes to everyone who had attended his birthday, at Lady Malfoy's insistence, of course, but also with the help of the small personality file that she had given him as a secondary present. The file had listed pertinent details about each of the guests who had attended his birthday, even down to a mention of what parties or meetings they had canceled out of to attend his (though Harry hadn't mentioned any thing like that in his notes), and he had studied each expandable notecard carefully before writing that guest's thank you note, so there was no reason to think that any of them felt left out. That was just another of the sort of insults that his uncle used to use.

The nearby table jumped with an odd tremor before spilling the entire stake of books on the floor, but again the exasperating wizard failed to take notice. This time, his attention was focused on his audience as he waved his free hand for silence.

["_Ladies and Gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet._"_What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!" _

_"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him, now free of charge --" The crowd applauded again. "He had no idea," the wizard continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose,"that he would shortly be getting much more_ _than my book, __**Magical Me.**__ He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me.Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" _

_The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with the Entire Works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under the weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, _where a red-headed girl, who looked somewhat familiar, _was standing next to her new cauldron_.

"_You have these," Harry mumbled_ _to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own."_

_"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face _with Ronald Weasley, who was wearing the same heavy brown robes and cloak that Harry had seen him in at King's Cross when the Durmstrang Train had arrived just a few moments after the Hogwart's express.

_"The __**Famous **__Harry Potter... Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page. _

_"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that." _Millicent growled as she and Draco came down the

steps from the upper balcony.

"_Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" _Ron snarled with a tone of disgust then laughed harshly as her face flushed a brilliant crimson as Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom broke away from the grasping crowds, both carrying wobbly stacks of Lockhart's books. He looked at Draco _as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe _and challenged. "Bet you're surprised, Malfoy, to see me here, eh?"

"_Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop," retorted Malfoy, "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."_ Draco's gesture took in to the two thick stacks of Durmstrang texts that Weasley was carrying as well as the thick brown robes and beaver fur cap that his sister was wearing.

Ron and Ginny flushed alarming shades of scarlet. Ron dropped their books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Draco, but Hermione and Neville caught the back of his cloak and pulled hard enough to pull him off balance causing him to land on his seat on the floor. While Draco and Millicent laughed openly at the red-faced and humiliated former Gryffindor, Harry felt he had been in a similar position to many times and couldn't find the humor. He offered his hand down to Ron, who looked at it oddly, then looked him up and down, noticing for the first time, the small French gorget that Harry wore almost constantly, now. When his eyes settled on the collar that Severus had shrunk for him until it looked like little more than an ornate men's necklace, they narrowed at the sight of the twisted snake on the Prince family crest.

"I don't need help from a snake." Ron snarled practically smacking his hand away.

Sighing in frustration, Harry nodded to Hermione and Neville and murmured his thanks before turning back to Draco.

"Let's go find your mum, Draco." Harry requested quietly, sorry that he suite mates had been drug into another unpleasant conflict because of him.

"Sure, Harry. We can come back after lunch." Draco gestured for Millicent to proceed up the stairs ahead of him. He scowled lightly when Harry gestured for him to move up next, but recognized the wisdom of it. Even a hot-head like Ronald Weasley wasn't as likely to take a public pot-shot at the boy-who-lived when he was retreating and had his back turned.

What they all had failed to take into account, however, was Ronald's sister, who had not yet even spoken. Grabbing her cauldron handle, with all of the strength that she had built up helping her mother and simply surviving in a family with six brothers, Ginevra Weasley flung the cauldron packed with the entire set of Lockhart's works, and both heavy sets of their Durmstrang text books – directly at the back of Harry's head just as he turned to follow Draco up.

"Gin!" _"Protego!" "Carpe Lo!" _Ron, Hermione, and Neville cried out simultaneously, causing Draco and Millicent to spin on their respective steps and cry out a warning to their friend.

_"Petrificus Totalus," _Lord Malfoy's voice rang out last, freezing Ron's sister – still wearing a vindictive grimace with her arm still extended from throwing the cauldron.

_"_Well," Lord Malfoy murmured as he took the steps with a quick gait that somehow looked slow and regal as he descended, commenting "Well," as he reached the middle stair, and again as he range the bottom stair, "Well...What do I see here?"

Stepping around Harry, who had turned and was staring at the frozen cauldron with shock, Lucius studied the cauldron for a moment before scanning his eyes across the scene again.

"Quite a lively, if somewhat one-sided, exchange. Let me see. My Son and Heir, Draco; Young Lord Potter; and Young Miss Bulstrode, I am –of course– familiar with, then we have Young Lord Longbottom, of whom I have a passing acquaintance with, and... hmmm..." he paused as he circled Hermione, who was staring at him defiantly as he studied her with frank appraisal.

"Untameable hair, an unbefittingly forward manner, and an indelicate desire to prove yourself the superior in all acquaintances... A word to the wise, Miss Granger: it has rarely been my experience to find a know-it-all even worth knowing."

Ignoring her wounded expression, Draco's father stepped past her to consider Ron and his sister.

"Which leaves... hmm... Red hair, brutish manners, and an apparent proclivity for unprovoked violence... clearly, we must be in the presence of Weasleys. _Accio Durmstrang text._"

Flipping through the text for several seconds, Lord Malfoy seemed to pause at points, read a passage, then shake his head in a condescending way before he finally snapped the book shut and held it out to Ron, who had climbed to his feet and was watching Draco's father with a look that was a mixture of shame and loathing.

"Your father has put in quite a large amount of overtime and has exchanged a fair number of favors to secure an alternative education for yourself and your sister; it really wouldn't do for a scene like this to proceed your arrival at Durmstrang." Malfoy threatened quietly as he pushed the text into the redhead's hand. "You might consider the repercussions of that and remind your sister of that as well. Regardless of your true loyalties, in the current political climate, it would be advisable to present even a pretense of supporting the Boy Who Lived – if only for the sake of your father's continued employment. _ Finite Incantatem._"

The red-haired witch suddenly jerked as she was released from the spell and glared at Malfoy, obviously uncomfortable at finding the wizard so close, before she turned back to Harry and snarled, "We don't need charity from some death eater wannabe, Potter, so keep your bloody books. Bet your mum's just rollin' over in her grave at how you turned out –"

Whatever else she might have said was silenced when Hermione closed the distance between them and struck her a resounding slap that rocked her back a step. Her eyes were on Ron though as she chastised the younger witch, "You don't even know Harry, and have no right to be so cruel."

A soft uncomfortable silence seemed to settle over the children, and Harry shifted awkwardly not knowing what to say and terribly disturbed by the entire event.

"Crude, but effective, Miss Granger. Boys, Miss Bulstrode, I believe the remainder of our party are waiting for us at Florean Fortescue's." Lord Malfoy gestured for them to continue up the stairs ahead of him, but remained where he stood commenting, "Let Narcissa know that I will join you momentarily, after I have a brief discussion with a certain set of overly lenient parents."

"Sir..." Harry hesitated before leaving the stairs to join to Draco's father. "Do you really have to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? I would prefer to..."

"What? Let it pass?" Lucius asked him with flare of something in his gaze that almost frightened Harry.

"No, Sir," Harry rushed to answer. In the Slytherin House, as well as during Lord Malfoy's and even Millicent's tutorials, it had been drilled into Harry that in the Magical community, a wizard's reputation was incredibly critical, carefully built, and fiercely guarded. A slight or slur to one's reputation, particularly a slight made in public, was to be dealt with harshly. "No, Sir, but not draw more attention and perhaps rumor to the fact that it was said by approaching them in public. Wouldn't it be better for me to ask Professor Snape, as my guardian to arrange a private meeting instead of broaching it not very far from a bunch of people and a reporter?"

Following Harry's gaze to the curious row of people still waiting for Lockhart's signature and the reporter, who was now wandering around the bookstore taking aimless shots anything that caught his interest, Lord Malfoy nodded abruptly.

"An astute observation, Lord Potter. Very well. I will wish to attend this meeting, however."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, if we may adjourn. I am not entirely certain that Narcissa or your father would be as content to let matters be delayed."

"My father?" Harry stared up at him with a look of shock.

"Have you forgotten the guardianship agreement so quickly?"

"No, but doesn't that just make him my guardian until..." Harry asked uncertainly, but not without clear tinges of excitement and hope coloring his tone.

"Until your meeting at the conclusion of the year, yes; however, based on your response to the announcement of it, I had presumed that you were quite amenable to the prospect."

"I am!" Harry assured him with an exuberant nod.

"And... you have seemed content with his care to date?"

"I am!"

"Then, I see no reason to predict that within a year's time, you will suddenly decide that you wish to return to your uncle's care and reject the Professor's offer of adoption."

"But, what about the court? I can't just say that I want it and have them agree to it, can I?"

"Harry, that is exactly what will happen." Lucius explained with amusement as he watched the variety of expressions crossing the other children's faces. "Severus has already testified under veritaserum to his good intent and has taken an unbreakable oath to stating that he will never knowingly or willingly act counter to your best interests. All that remains is the traditional 'trial period' that will allow you to judge his care as a guardian and decide if you wish to accept his offer."

"I know that now!" Harry burbled in a rush. "Can't I just tell them now? I've been in his care for a year already. I know what I want."

"But, not as his ward; and a year is such a little time to wait."

Harry seemed about to protest, thinking that a year was actually quite a lot of time, but decided from the looks that Millicent and Draco were giving him that there had already been more than enough discussed in public.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for explaining that."

"You are quite welcome. Now, as I believe I mentioned, Narcissa and your father are waiting for us."

"Yes, Sir." Harry answered having suddenly forgotten the entire unpleasant experience in the bookshop as his thoughts were overwhelmed at the prospect that Severus was his father because there was no way that Harry wasn't going to say "yes". He had a father.

The thought was so much on his mind that he was hardly aware of taking the steps back up to the street level where Millicent and Draco were waiting for him. When he reached them, his excitement overtook his common sense, and he chirped, "Did you hear that? I have a father."

The red-haired witch, on the level below, wasn't quite finished with Harry though, and yelled in response, "You already had a father, Potter, and guess what he hated Snape. They were enemies everyone knows that; Snape hated your mum and your dad, too. Even fought against them in the war and on the wrong side, too. He's probably the reason they're dead in the first place. But, I'm glad that you're soooo happy. I'm sure they don't mind at all that you want to live with a wizard they hated so much. Good luck on your new family. You deserve each other."

This time both Neville and Hermione were too stunned to respond to the girl's hateful comments. For his part, Malfoy's wand was stayed by the fact that the girl's shrieking had drawn her older brothers and parents, all of whom, he knew would be only to happy to hex him without consideration – as well as the attention of most of the onlookers. Harry's adoption would certainly not be news to the onlookers after the events of his birthday had made the paper, but remaining to argue the comments would only give the repugnant child the opportunity to further vent her spleen and perhaps mention something that should be left alone.

Harry's only response was to grab Draco's and Millicent's hands and pull them out the door. If he looked paler than usual, they didn't say anything about it – or about how tightly he was gripping their hands – or about how silent he was as they 'enjoyed' their ice creams. They didn't say anything when Draco's father quietly drew Professor Snape aside and apprised him of the scene in the bookstore, or when the Professor quietly drew Harry aside and after a moment's discussion, returned to make their apologies for leaving earlier than expected.

Later that evening, however, Draco's owl carried a piece of the charmed parchment to Millicent and many things were said, dangerous decisions discussed, and plans made that might have alarmed their families and friends, were they privy to the discussion. They debated their plans freely, on their charmed parchment, unaware that their's were not the only sets of eyes scanning give-and-take.

In her study, Narcissa accepted the rose petal handkerchief that Dobby offered her to blot her eyes then shooed him away before pulling out the master parchment that Severus had given her, which she had used to copy and ghost read the contents of all the parchments she doled out to her husband and son. As troubling as she found many of her husband's missives, her son's declarations troubled her more, for in them, she recognized that her son was setting himself on a path that he only partly understood. In them, she saw that he was simultaneously writing with an innocent cunning and a jaded innocence that made him paranoid enough to seek out a secure means of communication, but not wary enough to realize that any material he did not charm himself was suspect. The plans they wrote of, though simple and lacking the necessary complexity to truly further their stated aims, were generally sound, and in no way contradicting or obstructive to her own plans. So, Narcissa decide let them continue in their innocence until it was necessary to confront them with what in some eyes, would have constituted a betrayal of the bitterly protected pureblood values that both of their families espoused.

Elsewhere, Severus stalked across the narrow hallway outside of Harry's room. He had been about to join his ward, who had spent the rest of the miserable afternoon huddled around his pillow claiming that he didn't want to talk with eyes that begged the uncomfortable questions, when he felt one of the charmed parchments that he kept with him suddenly warm and start to expand. As he read it, he swore softly to himself, then cast a strong silencing charm so he could curse the entire misbegotten Weasley clan that would have allowed the witch to grow up so wayward without correction. It was only her greatest luck that she was going to Karkaroff's school, for it was incredibly unlikely that she would have passed a single potions exam in her entire time at Hogwarts.

When the children's discussion evolved from an analysis of "current political climates" and a individuals who might be showing a "pretense of support" into intense and immediate concrete plans for testing such pretense, he practically shuddered, cursing himself and Lucius for not realizing how transparent they had somehow allowed themselves to be in Draco's presence. By the time he read through the entire tete a tete, he was beyond cursing and in need of a pain relief potion that could be mixed with ample amounts of Firewhiskey to banish his rapidly growing migraine. His discussion with Harry would have to wait until morning.


	26. Chapter 26

Tiniest Wish: The Talk, Part 26.

Rating: T -warning for language. If you remember Marge's little rant at Harry in POA, you'll know the word I mean.

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but as they are both about to discover, changes aren't always comfortable. Italics – flashback.

_A/N: _In response to a couple of reviews and pms that I've received from chapter 25, I felt that there were a few items that may need clarification:

**--**Yes, both Ron and Ginny are going to Durmstrang: Ron because he was immediately 'sent down' from Hogwarts after he injured Harry (and spent the majority of his first year at Durmstrang) and Ginny because she wants to show loyalty to her brother, whom she feels was unfairly treated because of Harry's celebrity.

**--**This Ginny is not the sweet and light, Harry-besotted, fan-girl Ginny of canon. She blames Harry for her brother's expulsion, for her father almost being fired as a result of the resulting scandal, for her family's recent financial hardships, for being Slytherin, for not being Ron's friend as Ron has convinced her that Harry had promised to be on the train to Hogwarts, for being friends with a Malfoy, and worst of all – in her eyes – for not fitting the idealized fantasy of him that she had constructed for herself.

**--**Similarly, this is not the canon Hermione. Ron was sent down from Hogwarts near the end of September, so he wasn't there to make her cry after potions, so she didn't hide in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, so she wasn't trapped in there with the troll, so she wasn't rescued by Harry and Ron, so she wasn't forced by her gratitude for being saved to confront her own moral code and break it by lying to a teacher. Instead, by coaching Crabbe through potions, and tutoring him after class, she gained a somewhat heavy- handed and tactless, but well intentioned defender who made quite certain that no one else teased her for being a know it all – after Ron was gone, as well as the general tolerance of the Slytherin's who began to recognize that while a first year and a muggle born, she was still too bright and talented to want to alienate. By the end of the first year, her study groups had expanded to a size that they regularly booked one of the classrooms to discuss the subject and most (but certainly not all) of the first and second year Slytherins have come to recognize the value of treating her politely.

**--**Hermione's slap is going to have consequences but not in how Lucius considers her; to him, she will continue to be a mudblood – even if a useful one. His description "Crude but effective" is as much a description of her, in his eyes, as it is a description of her slap. He does not and will not grow to respect her, but he will have uses for her and will treat her with a stilted diplomacy to get what he wants.

**--**The Ron/Draco, Millicent/Ginny – dialog reversals have rather a lot of foreshadowing in them. Though much of the foreshadowing won't come due until their fourth year as Ron and Ginny won't be back in the picture until around then. (No, there won't be a predictable beginning of the year/end of the year run in with them at Kings Cross every year... or anywhere else.) Having Ron use Draco's dialog seemed particularly appropriate for suggesting the jealously that we see building in Ron through the canon, but that he won't be around to build the impression of until fourth year – when it will be a defining characteristic but not a heavily displayed trait. The impact of the Millicent/Ginny dialog change will come up rather soon.

**--**The numerous cut and pastes from COS description of Harry's first meeting of Lockheart into the confrontation were made because I wanted to use the canon elements to highlight how very AU aspects of his second year and the status of his current non-relationship with Ron and Ginny are going to become. On a side note, the events at the bookstore are going to herald the early arrival of two familiar characters. I look forward to reading your reflections on their characterization.

* * *

_The thought was so much on his mind that he was hardly aware of taking the steps  
back up to the street level where Millicent and Draco were waiting for him. _

_When he reached them, his excitement overtook his common sense,  
and he chirped, "Did you hear that? I have a father." _

_The red-haired witch, on the level below, wasn't quite finished with Harry though,  
and yelled in response, "You already had a father, Potter, and guess what he hated  
Snape. They were enemies everyone knows that; Snape hated your mum and  
your dad, too. Even fought against them in the war and on the wrong side, too.  
He's probably the reason they're dead in the first place. But, I'm glad that you're soooo happy.  
I'm sure they don't mind at all that you want to live with a wizard they hated so much.  
Good luck on your new family. You deserve each other." _

**Part 26**,

Harry rolled over on his back, then back to his side, then back to his back, and to his side again. In a lot of ways, it felt like he was being kicked back and forth by his uncle again, but the kicks were coming from the inside and in rhythm with every word that echoed in his thoughts. Trying as hard as he could all night long, he hadn't been able to get Ron's sister's voice out of his head... out of his nightmares.

_"They were enemies- everyone knows that," _she'd said, but Harry didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe that his father – his natural father – would hate anyone who had been so good to him, who wanted him, but it rang true somehow. Not just because she had said them in that mad sort of tone that bad truths usually came out in – the tone that his Aunt Petunia used to call him a freak in – but because of the silence that followed that: a scared silence where everyone was watching him to see how he would take it. Even Draco's father had taken too long to answer. No one did that when they thought it was a lie.

When people thought something was a lie, they would protest or laugh or look skeptical and demand proof. Instead everyone ...Draco, Millicent, Neville, Hermione, and Lord Malfoy... everyone but _that_ witch had stared at him silently, probably waiting for him to have some sort explosion like he did at his birthday party. They had thought it was true and not just the hating part, but that he had been on the other side of the war – the side that Hagrid had said killed both Harry's father and mother... and that the professor may have been responsible in some way for their deaths.

Harry could accept that they had been on opposite sides of the war, and even that Professor Snape may have done something that helped Voldemort kill them. (It was a war after all and opposite sides often tried to kill each other.) But, the thought that he had hated them enough to be their enemy specifically -scared Harry.

Severus had hated Harry's parents; his Aunt Petunia had hated her own sister, too; and Hagrid had said that one of their own friends... their best friends had betrayed them to Voldemort. If their own friends didn't like them enough to want to protect them, there had to be something wrong with them – just like his aunt always said. And... if she was right about them... maybe, she was right about him, too. His Aunt Marge had said there was something wrong with him: that he was a runt and a whelp, and that he should have been drowned at birth or abandoned by the side of the road for foxes and the like to pick off. She'd said it time and time again: "If there was something wrong with the bitch, there would be something wrong with the whelp."

Maybe that was why his relatives had hated him, why he had never been able to make friends at primary school, and why all of his primary teachers had looked down on him like he was a bit of rubbish. The only question was "How long could it be before Professor Snape felt the same way?" Harry didn't think that it had taken his relatives very long to decide they didn't like him because his earliest memories were of the cupboard. The kids at school hadn't taken long either – though he supposed Dudley helped them along the way. But, his teachers, they almost to a one hadn't liked him from the first day.

Professor Snape had at least liked him longer than that, but that wasn't any proof. Was it? Harry might have even been wrong about that. What was it that Lord Malfoy had said? "In the current political climate?" Was the professor just being nice to him because the current political climate demanded it? Was Lord Malfoy? Draco? Had his dad told him to be nice to Harry the way he told Ron to? Was Lady Malfoy? He would have sworn that they liked him at least a little, but he really couldn't know for sure.

The only thing worse, in Professor Snape's opinion, than his pathetic facility for deceit was his absolute inability to detect it. As a result, Professor had given him two firm, standing rules: "If you can't lie well, don't lie at all." ; and "Ask Draco or myself before you take something as a fact."

Only now, he couldn't ask them because they were the ones that he wasn't... Harry's tormented thoughts were drug to a screeching halt as a hand that he recognized as Miss Tonk's patted his shoulder lightly.

"There, there, Harry. From what Draco, Lucius, and Severus told me, yesterday was a pretty awful day for you, but there's nothing to get that shredded up over. Is there?"

When Harry didn't immediately turn over at her gentle pull, Tonks coaxed again: "Here now, none of that. I know it was a tough day, but it's over now. Sev will be back soon, and we can have a nice picnic together. How does that sound?"

Harry only curled in on himself more tightly, even though he knew he was being rude. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, particularly not the overly-bubbly witch that Lady Malfoy had picked out for Professor Snape to marry. The professor didn't even seem to trust her yet, and if Professor Snape couldn't - Harry knew he couldn't either.

"Come on now, up and out of bed, so you can be ready when Sev gets back."

This time, Harry caught it.

"Gets back?"

Had the professor left him alone with someone he didn't even seem to trust? Was it starting already? Now, that the truth was out?

"Shore thing, he, Narcissa, and Lucius all went over to the Weasley's burrow to have a long chat with that little chit: a chit-chat you might say. He was almost breathing fire, he was so mad at her and her brother. Narcissa even insisted on him writing sixteen howlers to the pair to cool his temperature before Narcissa would let them go. Oh, and I took the initiative of stopping by Lockhart's lugubrious self this morning after seeing a rather odd photo of you two on the front page. It didn't look like you wanted that picture taken, did you?"

It would be just to rude not to answer such a direct question, even when he was this upset, so Harry just shook his head.

"Didn't think so. Anyway, as an auror, I thought it was only my duty to write him up for manhandling a minor wizard; taking or having a representative take a minor's picture without the knowledge and consent of his parents and or guardians; and worse yet, offering unsolicited, spelled gifts to a minor child. You get the picture. That last was a serious offense, too. Especially since the war."

Turning slightly on his side, but not enough that she could see that he had actually been crying – for his nose was too stuffed up for it to have been from anything else, Harry asked curiously, "It was?"

"Yep. In the war, a few Death Eaters got a bit nasty about how they got their little tricks and traps into enemy hands. The started giving children of known enemies spelled trinkets and gifts that would either do something nasty to the child or have a trigger to make it 'go off' when it reaches whoever the real target was. In my case, it was my mum." Miss Tonks finished quietly.

"You got one?" Harry asked, horrified at the thought that she might have been hurt.

'Yep, I think I was around six or seven when Auntie B. stopped me in the garden of a tea shop that my mum liked and introduced herself as my aunt. She told me it depressed her awfully that she and her big sister couldn't be friends anymore, and asked if I would give Mum a gift, for her. Of course, I promised I would and she pulled out this absolutely beautiful necklace that looked like it was made of liquid opals."

"What did it do?"

"Well, she spelled it to stay on my neck, so I wouldn't lose it before my mum and Auntie Narcissa had come out from the tea room where they were talking about something serious. I think Narcissa was trying to warn mum about Auntie B, but can't be sure because they had cast a silencing spell after they put a monitoring spell on me and sent me out into the garden to play. I tried to listen in, but the monitoring spell gave me away, and the silencing spell was cast to tight for me to wiggle with."

"Wiggle with?" Turning flat on his back, Harry tried to read her meaning in her eyes because he had never heard of wiggling things. None of the school books had ever said anything about it.

"Well, yeah. I was a pretty strong little snoop, and sometimes, when I concentrated very hard and wiggled my left big toe just how I wanted it, and sort of cocked my head to the side with my eyes closed, I imagined that I could hear what someone was saying behind a silencing spell, which mum used a lot, back then, so they could talk about the war without worrying me. Most of the time, I think I was just imagining what they were saying, but sometimes I would mention something that would cause them to give me the oddest looks, so I think I might have gotten it right sometimes, too. Anyway, with both of them casting silencing spells, I couldn't hear a thing until they came out."

"What happened then?"

Tonk's voice was low and hoarse when she finally answered, "Pain. A lot of pain. The necklace's pretty beads that I kept running through my fingers, weren't liquid opals, but they were liquids... potions to be precise, and some of the nastiest there are. When Mum was close enough to trigger it, the necklace beads popped and melted between my fingers, around my neck, into my skin.

Her sticking spell even kept the stuff on my skin when Mum and Narcissa cast water through their wands to try and wash them off. The rest I don't know about. I only remember screaming my head off as I tried to rub the potions off my hands and only let them seep through my dress for my troubles."

"Oh God, I mean, Merlin. Were you alright?"

"Well, that depends on how you define alright. I spent about a year in St. Mungo's because there wasn't a lot that the healers could do to help me, but about eight months in, one of the healers, who'd just gotten a new apprentice, assigned my case to him. Frankly, I don't think he liked the apprentice, but Masteries paid a lot, and it was non-reimbursable. The Healer assigned the man all of his dirtiest cases, I'm sure so he could have a scapegoat with the other Healers and left him alone for most of the time. The apprentice showed him, though."

"He did? How?"

"He healed me! The guy had a special talent for potions and could pick them apart almost blindfolded. Within a week of being assigned to my 'hopeless case' as his master had called it, the apprentice had potions that let me sleep at night without pain, potions that helped loosen the stiff scarring on my hands, and potions that helped make my face something that you could look at without throwing up."

"Oh, Oh. Wow. He must have been really cool."

"Yeah. I think so, but, enough about me and him, Harry would you like to talk about what has you so upset?"

After she'd shared something so personal, Harry didn't know how he could say no, but he really didn't want to. Hadn't they already seen that talking about it made it real? Wasn't that what magic was anyway? Making things real with words.

Harry's pause must have been answer enough, however, because she patted his hip and started to get up with a disappointed sigh.

"I'm afraid..." Harry rushed to answer in a hoarse whisper before she was totally up.

"Of what, Harry? You know that Sev will protect you in any way he can."

"But, wh-wh-ha- what if he doesn't li-ke me? What if I'm like them? And, he starts to h-h- ha---"

"Hate you?" Tonks supplied sadly.

It took three gulps before Harry could swallow enough to nod his head without cutting off his air supply.

"Oh, Harry, he won't. He won't hate you. Even if you turn out to be the spittin' image of your father."

"Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge did. They hated me and said it was because I'm so much like her, like my mum." Harry cried despondently.

"Which only serves to demonstrate that your abysmal relatives showed no better sense of taste or judgment with regard to your mother than they did to you, Child." Severus commented in a low solemn tone from the doorway – startling them both.

As he entered the room, Severus watched his ward jump from the bed, wearing a hangdog as he took a formally polite stance with his eyes meeting a point somewhere around Severus's ribcage. Sighing with an overwhelming sense of asperity, Severus studied the child with regret. In truth, though he had known that his misguided past would eventually touch the child and had not expected the child to always look up to him with trust and faith, he had hoped that Harry's recognition of his flawed humanity would not occur for some years to come. Yet, sadly, the mistakes of his youth seemed to have immunized him from such bits of good fortune, and for the first time since Harry had entered his house, the child's trust in him appeared to have been badly shaken... by an event that Severus should have expected to occur in some form and could have easily thwarted with foresight.

When Miss Tonks stood - intending to give them some privacy, Severus caught her eye, considering what he had heard from the door, and reached out to take her hand as she passed.

"Miss Tonks, Thank you for staying with Harry while I ran my errand."

"No problem. Harry's a joy to be with and a good listener." She commented with a knowing and encouraging smile.

"Yes, I am well aware of that. I suspect that the description could apply to you as well." He commented – trying for a warm tone that must have been at least marginally different from his normal characteristically harsh tones because her eyes shot up in surprise as he began to offer: "I realize, of course, that you may have other duties to attend to, but wonder if I might..."

"Yes?"

"I wonder, if perhaps, I might ask you... to join us? I believe that Miss Weasley made some statements that Harry has a right to have explained, and perhaps, you might have some questions as well?"

Harry watched her anxiously, quite unable to decide if he wanted her there or not. If Professor Snape was going to break things to him or perhaps more accurately break things off with him, having Miss Tonks around might make it harder, but Harry wasn't entirely sure that the professor sounded like he was going to do that. His voice sounded tense and tight, but not harsh or angry or that scary quiet he could get when he was ready to throw something. The words he'd used, too, were pretty straight forward. They didn't sound particularly Slytherin like he was trying to hedge for the best reaction. Before he could decide, though, Miss Tonks apparently made her own decision because she took a small backwards hop and plopped down on his bed like a kindergärtner. When he glanced back at her uncertainly, she budged over and patted a spot beside her.

"Come on Harry, hope up and let's play a hundred and twenty questions."

Looking back at the professor, Harry couldn't quite suppress an amused quirk of his lips. Somehow, Miss Tonks seemed to know how to do the simplest things that would completely bemuse, mystify, or exasperate Professor Snape. At that moment, the professor was rolling his eyes at the witch's exaggeration almost theatrically, as he commented, "I believe the game is entitled 'twenty questions'."

"Awww. But, that's no fun. Twenty questions is over t0o quick, and always seems to end when things get really interesting. I know. Let's make it a three-way. We each get to ask twenty questions?" The way she wiggled her eyebrows made Harry sigh in amusement as he turned to catch the professor's expression. Seeming to understand his amusement, Professor Snape merely sighed "quite" at Harry as if sharing some unspoken comment about the auror's childlike behavior before offering: "Harry, it is entirely up to you."

Settling into an unruffled expression, Severus curiously watched Harry considering the game and wondered if the boy had caught on to the fact that the rather canny woman, by making it seem like a game, had opened him up to the questioning as well. He doubted that the intensely private child would have agreed to it if he realized that she had. Yet, he wouldn't have thought that she would have gotten as far as she had when he came to the door.

He suspected, in fact, that she may have gotten to the root of the problem, but would not know for certain until they addressed others matters that Miss. Weasley had mentioned.

"Can we say, 'No' to a question if we don't want to answer it?" Harry asked finally, causing Severus to smile. The child apparently had realized it and wanted safeguards.

"Of course, but no lying. If you don't want to answer it, don't, but don't give half answers or hedge" she answered in the tone of a soft suggestion.

"Okay, I guess so. Who starts?"

"I believe that you took the brunt of Miss Weasley's sharp comments, so the right of the first inquiry should go to you." Severus commented gently and steeled himself for the most difficult topic that he thought Harry might ask about – his role a death eater.

Instead, Harry somehow managed to switch from that veritable minefield of a topic to one that made Severus feel as if he had just, willingly, jumped into a pit quicksand : "Did you really hate my parents?"


	27. Chapter 27

Tiniest Wish: Dark Marks, Part 27.

Rating: T -warning for language. If you remember Marge's little rant at Harry in POA, you'll know the word I mean.

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but as they are both about to discover, changes aren't always comfortable. Italics – flashback.

_"Of course, but no lying. If you don't want to answer it, don't, but don't give half answers or hedge"  
she answered in the tone of a soft suggestion. _

_"Okay, I guess so. Who starts?" _

_"I believe that you took the brunt of Miss Weasley's sharp comments, I believe the right of the first inquiry  
goes to you." Severus commented gently and steeled himself for the most difficult topic that he thought  
Harry might ask about – his role a death eater._

_Instead, Harry somehow managed to switch from that veritable minefield of a topic to one that made  
Severus feel as if he had just, willingly, jumped into a pit quicksand : "Did you really hate my mother and father?"_

Part 27,

Meeting Harry's eyes, solemnly, Severus nodded and barely repressed a wince as he watched a small hopeful light in the child's eyes extinguish at his response.

"There were times that I have harbored feelings of hatred toward your parents; though, the feelings were resolved for the most part by the time we reached adulthood."

The child considered his response carefully, and to his credit, did not immediately take heart at Severus's words, but questioned, "For, the most part?"

"Yes, at their deaths, to be honest with you, I did harbor some resentment towards your mother." Severus admitted. The child's eyes fluttered closed as his so-called 'Slytherin face' fell into place.

"But, Mum warned me that you loved Lily, and she doesn't think that you'll ever..." Miss Tonks protested, before apparently realizing that her mother's warnings really weren't matters to be discussed in front of Harry.

"Your mother isn't entirely mistaken." Severus allowed, watching Harry's face closely.

"Sir, may I ask... why?" The child's voice held an all too familiar hint of sadness and low esteem that would have caused Severus to hesitate even if he hadn't heard Harry's comments to Miss Tonks of his belief that Severus would grow to hate him like his aunt did. It was a preposterous notion, but Severus was not naive enough to delude himself that a single difficult year would be enough to overcome Harry's neglect-ridden and damaging childhood.

"First," Severus paused as he reconsidered the child's likely motivations, but after a moment, when he had come to the same conclusion, he asked gently, "Are you asking out of simple curiosity, or – perhaps- a futile desire to eradicate some presumably undesirable trait from your make-up to make your presence more tolerable to me?"

The child stiffened at his words and his shuttered eyes shot open letting Severus see the aching fear resting deep within. It was as he thought.

"If it is the former, then it is a question that I refuse to answer. What occurred between them and myself is in the past and casts no glory on anyone involved. If the latter, you should be aware that it is an impossible task."

At Professor Snape's words, Harry's felt as if every nerve ending in his body had suddenly died. It was if he had been cut adrift – unable to sense or feel anything outside himself, and what he could feel was utterly loathsome and unbearable. It was as if he had been born with some invisible taint soaked into his skin that would set him apart and make him unfit and unsuitable for human contact and caring. The pressure of his sudden... adrift-ness began to buzz so loudly in his ears that he almost didn't hear the professor when he spoke again, but some sense of the words seemed to soak in ... making it possible for Harry to breath despite the impossible tightness in his chest.

"It would impossible and foolhardy to try to eliminate circumstances and traits that truly have no application to you." The professor coaxed.

"Why?" he whispered in a small, tight voice – not quite certain that he had truly understood Professor Snape's comment. He ignored Miss Tonk's soft cry of "Oh, Harry" to listen for the professor's answer.

"The latter, then?" Severus asked for confirmation before he started and received an abrupt disjointed nod.

"Harry, your mother, Lily was a witch for whom I held the highest admiration, and for a great many years, she was my only true friend and the only person that I completely trusted. In our late teens, however, I reacted badly to ...someone else's prank and called her a wretched name that she never forgave me for, and she – out of hurt- called me a name that I found humiliating and demeaning. For a while after the prank, I was too angry at everyone involved to see that her hurt reaction had been my fault, and by the time that I had come to that recognition, I was too proud and angry over other matters to try and reconcile with her.

For her part, I believe that Lily had idealized intellect, not her own nor mine specifically, but intelligence in general and believed that anyone possessing higher intellect should be immune to petty hates, jealously, and prejudices... and further, I've come to believe that while she was a proud, stubborn woman in her own right, that she never forgave me as much because I disturbed her belief as because of the name I called her. In any event, even though we regained a small measure of civility later, there was such a short time before ... before your parents died, that I never had the ability to reconcile with her. My fleeting hatred of her had only been because she had died before I had the chance to reconcile with her and recover our friendship.

Harry, there is no manner or part of you- derived from her - that these circumstances could cause me to hate. If anything you are the embodiment of her best features: her generosity, her caring, her humor, even her brash Gryffindor spirit, and the trust that you have bestowed in me to date has been a solace – allowing me to believe that we would have eventually come to terms with the utter humanity and not infrequent stupidity of teenagers."

Severus watched as Harry's form lost a tiny measure of its rigidity, and his jaw line softened.. At least the child was listening, hopefully, he would continue to do so.

"And James... as a teen, James was much like Dudley, a child raised to believe in his own entitlement who became a bully but without the Dursley's wretched influence. Still, after they got together, Lily wrought incredible changes in him – she made him grow up, and by the last time that I worked together with James had we had developed a functional if not cordial working relationship."

"How they could have been working together when you were a death eater?" Miss Tonks blurted out again, causing Severus to want to throttle her as Harry's eyes shuttered again.

Turning to study the young auror with a curious gaze, Severus watched her shift and squirm under his observation until she finally blurted out, "You were on on opposite sides; there's a record of your trial in the auror's office. It's sealed, but you were brought up on charges, and they didn't do that unless they were pretty sure what side you're on."

"And, yet, you seem intently focused on bringing about - - certain ends, when you so clearly believe that I was on the wrong side." Severus challenged lightly, raising an eyebrow as she flushed.

The young auror winced lightly and shrugged, but the blush she wore brought to mind several of his own questions that he might use toward the twenty questions that she had specified. Turning back to Harry, he was in the midst of trying to figure out where to begin when his ward answered.

Harry's response was nothing of what he had expected it to be, though.

"We studied about some wars primary levels." Harry commented solemnly, "My teacher said that wars are never about only one side being right. 'The tragedy,' Mr. Perkins, says 'is that often, both sides are right in some manner, but instead of finding a way to integrate their needs and goals, both sides try to set their own wants above the other side's... and ultimately start fighting over it when they come to an impasse."

"Mr. Perkins sounds like a man of reason, Harry, and you would do will to remember his comment; however, you would also be well advised to remember that few things are quite so simple. Yes, a number of the Dark Lord's original principals had veracity and spoke to many of his followers, who were looking for simple solutions to their own problems. Sadly, those principals became as twisted as he when he used his charisma and dogma to turn a legitimate stance into a campaign for power – dragging along those who had allowed themselves to be marked and magically bonded into serving him when they joined for the wrong reasons or because they believed his superficial message."

"Did you?" Harry asked anxiously, having only a superficial understanding of bonds, from Millicent's lectures.

Meeting Harry's eyes as he began to slowly unbutton his robe's over-sleeves, Severus coaxed quietly, "Harry I know it's difficult, but I would like you to remember for just a moment how felt at your birthday party, just before you found out that I would become your guardian: when you allowed yourself to acknowledge the hurt and anger that the Dursleys made you feel with their continuous mistreatment. Do you remember that moment?"

Harry's chin bobbed sharply.

"I had a night much the same when I was two months short of my seventeenth birthday. As I told our house, my muggle father was abusive to both my mother and myself. My early life was difficult and filled with sadness until my mother and I briefly escaped his control."

His outer sleeve had twelve buttons, which he focused on was slowly unbuttoning, to maintain his nerve, as he explained in an aside to Miss Tonks, "He was part Romani- a gypsy, but he trying to get away from that life and had idealized her as a well-to-do gentile, whose property he could control through her and ultimately inherit. The reverse was true, however, and he was furious when he discovered it to be true. Both my mother and I suffered for it until she attempted our escape when I was seven."

"Oh, Sev, how horrible."

"For a time, it wasn't. For five years, we lived impoverished, but in relative safety and general contentment... Well, contentment is perhaps too positive a term but peaceful would not be amiss. We lived an insular existence, depending on each other for company and support. She tutored me in potions, charms, and transfiguration as well as Defense against the Dark Arts, and I taught her how to play chess – a game that she had never seemed interested in before, even though she had been a gobstones captain when she was in school and certainly had a mind for strategy. We were relatively content until my father saw fit to disrupt our lives again. He employed the services of a Romani seeress to find my mother and myself. The summer in my second year, he found us at Kings Cross and used the muggle law enforcement to force us back into his control.

He used my mother's unfamiliarity with the muggle world to have her committed for a time, so that he could gain sole custody of me. The seeress had informed him that while my mother, as a witch, had not been eligible to be the heir of the Prince estate – even though I was a half-blood, I would be eligible when my uncle Marcus passed without issue. While he despised everything else that my mother's family stood for, he was not above ransacking their vaults and converting what properties he could into muggle currency. He was simply biding his time until I came of age, when he intended to have me declared unfit by muggle standards and commit me – as he had with my mother. It wasn't until the summer before my seventh year when he went to Gringotts to begin arrangements to have the accounts transferred into his control that he discovered that Gringotts and authorities in the magical community refused to acknowledge muggle institutionalization. Witches and Wizards had all to often been institutionalized for simply believing in magic – the foundation of our community – for our laws to accept the muggle psychiatric standards as valid. Griphook informed him in unvarnished terms that he would, under no circumstances, be given access to Prince estate.

He was furious by the time returned home and beat me almost to the point of unconsciousness before I risked apparating away. Still underage, I hadn't wanted to risk using magic against him because I had no legal right, yet, to pull my mum out of the home he'd moved her to, and I was afraid he'd move her again before I could come of age – or worse, pull her out while I was at school. I had no idea; however, that he had already retrieved her from the center. If I had, I would never have left her side. By the time I reached hear as a first year student, I had learned almost an entire text of hexes, spells classified as Dark, for the sole purpose of protecting my mother and myself. I never would have left her side."

Not realizing how disturbing the details would have sounded to Harry, Severus was surprised to suddenly have the child kneeling on the ground in front of him with his arms wrapped tightly around his waist and his face pressed tightly against his chest. Taking surprising comfort from Harry's hug, Severus continued his difficult tale: " I never felt safe even at Hogwarts, and Voldemort was the first wizard who had ever shown a willingness to protect me even from bullies like Po... my father. Voldemort killed him when I came to him after being so badly beaten and nearly begged to join Voldemort – almost promising him my soul if he could protect my mother and I, but it was already to late. After llegilimizing my father, Voldemort had told me that he had killed her. He had killed my mother because she had chastised him for beating for beating me and because she threatened to leave him as I had asked. I hated myself after Voldemort killed him, blaming both my father's death and my mother's death on my actions and felt that I deserved to be punished for it and was willing to do be manipulated by Voldemort as a result.

Almost as soon as he gave me the Dark Mark, I knew it had been a mistake by how weak and sick I felt felt after he marked me. That feeling of soul-sickness and guilt has never completely gone away, but I wouldn't have recovered from my actions in any manner if it were not for your mother. I fought with myself for days after joining him, but could not find the courage to try and reverse it or get out of it until I saw Lily at mother's memorial. While Lily still hadn't forgiven me, she claimed that we had been friends too long for her to let me be alone at my parents' funerals. I was stunned and heartbroken by how wrong I had been when she wouldn't take my arm to leave the memorial because somehow she sensed the Dark Mark. She urged me to go to Dumbledore, and I listened."

Feeling the child's tears soaking his shirt, Severus glanced down as he wrapped his arms around the boy who would be his son, wondering if he should admit that he had gone to Dumbledore, but was rebuked when he was caught listening at the door of a meeting that Dumbledore was holding in anger at the rebuff and went straight to Voldemort to report what he had heard, not knowing that it was a prophecy that would point directly to James and Lily. Would the child be able to soon forgive him if he did? Or would it be better to wait until after the adoption was finalized when he would still have some leverage with Harry and could keep the child close to him long enough to explain and convince the child to forgive him. The boy had forgiven his repulsive uncle after all, hadn't he? And what about Miss Tonks? What would her reaction be? He had yet to look at her for her reaction to the memory of how he had caused his parent's deaths. What would she think if she knew the worst?

Before he could make a decision one way or other, still pressed into his chest, Harry asked in a tremulous voice, "Can I see it, Sir?"


	28. Chapter 28

Tiniest Wish: Darker Destinies, Part 28

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but as they are both about to discover, changes aren't always comfortable. Italics – flashback.

_Feeling the child's tears soaking his shirt, Severus glanced down as  
he wrapped his arms around the boy who would be his son, wondering  
if he should admit that he had gone to Dumbledore, but was rebuked  
when he was caught listening at the door of a meeting that Dumbledore  
was holding and that in anger at the rebuff, he went straight to  
Voldemort to report what he had heard, not knowing that it was a  
prophecy that would point directly to James and Lily. _

_Would the child be able to soon forgive him if he did? Or would it  
be better to wait until after the adoption was finalized when he  
would still have some leverage with Harry and could keep the child  
close to him long enough to explain and convince the child to forgive him. _

_The boy had forgiven his repulsive uncle after all, hadn't he?  
And what about Miss Tonks? What would her reaction be? He had yet to  
look at her for her reaction to the memory of how he had caused his  
parent's deaths. What would she think if she knew the worst?_

_Before he could make a decision one way or other, still pressed into his chest,  
Harry asked in a tremulous voice, "Can I see it, Sir?"_

**Darker Destinies, Part 28 **

"What?" Severus asked in astonishment, paling at the thought, surely the child could not want to see his parent's deaths or Voldemort's actions, much less his own.

"You cannot," he began sharply and broke off when Harry flinched.

"Surely you cannot... There is nothing in those memories that you will want to see, nor that be appropriate to see." Severus tried again trying to ignore how hoarse and raspy his voice sounded as he answered. Though he was confident that Harry would not intentionally invade his memories, Severus dropped his gaze to Harry's chest, unwilling to tempt the child's abilities to resist whatever curiosity he might harbor for memories of his parents.

"Oh, no. No, Sir. That's not what I meant." Harry answered in a quavering voice, biting his lips nervously. Suddenly understanding why his professor was no longer looking at him, Harry half turned away so that the professor could see him by profile and fixed his eyes on the charmed scene in the picture window as he explained: "I didn't mean that. I would like to know more about my mom, but ... I don't – I don't think I'd like to watch you fighting and mad at each other, even if you did get over it. I meant to ... I was trying to ask... Can I see ... Can I see your mark?"

"What?!?" The request thoroughly startled Severus.

He glanced at his sleeve and then back up at the boy. In truth, he had intended to show them both the dark mark – in part for its shock value and in part to make it abundantly real to them. Relying on the reactions that he had seen all to often from others who were shown the mark, he had wanted to essentially force them into facing the unpleasant truths of his past before they became so deeply committed to him and he to them that it would only be more painful when the truth was ultimately revealed – an eventuality that he knew was a certainty, though he had not expected it to come this soon. But, he had expected to be met with a far different reaction when he used it, and finding himself met with such simple, if naïve, acceptance from the child, he was suddenly loath to show either of them further proof of his folly – as if it would seem suddenly too real or too much for them to accept.

Dropping his hand to his sleeve, with six button's left to undo, Severus found himself stricken by a rare moment of indecision. Searching the child's profile and expression for any trace of distrust, apprehension, or even morbid curiosity (a skill that he had developed a proficiency for during his years as a spy), he was instead startled to see a stance with a little nervousness, yes, but offset with a far greater quantity of an entirely different emotion – concern. Slowly unbuttoning three of the buttons, he forced his voice into its most neutral and casual tones to softly ask, "Why?"

Harry's eyes stilled, somehow becoming deeper as they stared at him, almost drawing him into them, but after the first time using legillimency outside the Great Hall, to confirm the child's own natural skill in the delicate art, Severus had made it a practice to never enter the Harry's mind without first thoroughly discussing it with the child and making clear his objectives. So, despite the temptation to delve deeper into the child's reaction and confirm that he would not be despised for what he was revealing, Severus waited for Harry's answer, which finally came as a silent gesture that explained everything but opened up a thousand other questions in Severus's mind.

Harry reached up with a lightly trembling hand and ran two pale fingers over the lightening bolt scar that hung just above his brow, and Severus felt as if he suddenly understood. The child had been irrevocably marked by Voldemort and permanently-scarred by his relatives: physically as well as emotionally. Being surrounded by classmates and professors who had grown up with the benefits of magical generally-scar-less healing had been undoubtedly an isolating experience for the Harry, particularly the child's strong desire to conceal his injuries had triggered his metamorphic abilities. In that light, allowing Harry to see the scar seemed not only more acceptable, but mandated. Severus knew all to well how it felt to feel he was alone and isolated, even freakish, at Hogwarts and would not allow Harry to suffer those feelings if there was anything that he could do to prevent it, and in this instance, he could – at the very least- show Harry that he was not alone in carrying unwanted scars.

Responding with an equally silent gesture, Severus straightened his arm pushing it out through the cuff that he had unbuttoned without being truly aware of doing so, and without hesitation, presented it to his son. Showing Harry, however, was a completely different matter from looking at himself, and even as he felt his sons fingers hesitantly reach out and trace the hated tattoo, he kept his eyes steadfastly averted to a wayward curl at Harry's crown. As he did so, yet another discomforting question rose in his thoughts: was this another feeling that his son shared? This hesitancy to even accidentally glance at his scars.

Even as he wondered it, the answer came to him in a rapid series of memories from Harry's time in the infirmary. Every time he had watched Harry change from his sleeping robes to attire that he could leave the infirmary wing, he had inadvertently noticed the child clenching his eyes shut. At first, he'd been certain that it was a reaction to pain, but as time passed, he simply marked it off as a personal habit and disregarded it from thereon. In doing so, however, Severus was ashamed to realize that he had allowed himself to become overly fixated on simply repairing the child's physical wounds without giving much further thought to his emotional and spiritual wounds- wounds which Severus well knew could be the most devastating of all. An entire school year had passed without him arranging for Harry to receive additional counseling to alleviate the natural ramifications of his relatives neglect and outright abuse. True, he had been kept busier than he could remember being in nearly a decade – with additional tutoring sessions for Harry and his seven suite mates, replacing and inventing new potions used by Harry during his recovery, keeping a close watch on all of his snakes- particularly with the Dark Lord inhabiting Quirrel – to prevent the defense instructor from leading any astray, keeping watch on Quirrel himself to ensure that he would not have the opportunity to harm Harry, and in what little spare time he had, learning parsletongue to speak with Harry's astonishing pet basilisk. That was hardly an excuse, however, and Severus was beginning to berate himself harshly for his lack of foresight when a flare of pain surged through him so intense he was absolutely certain that it would stop his heart if it continued even a moment longer.

As he dropped to his knees, Severus glanced hurriedly to Tonks, hoping to warn her, but from the pallor of her skin and the fierce worry looming in her eyes, it was apparent that she realized something was wrong. When the pain flared again, so overpowering that he was certain that his arm was being incinerated, Severus finally realized that the pain had originated in his dark mark and forced himself to look at the ghastly mark just in time to see it lift from his skin as a burning silhouette. For the briefest second, it felt as if his skin was being ripped away as the glowing ember red image of a dark mark's skull and snake-tongue levitated – leaving behind raw evenly burned skin. The pain, so much more intense than any he could remember suffering, even under the worst of Voldemort's testing, overwhelmed him but not before he witnessed the terrible image of the tattoo floating toward his son, despite the grab he made to intercept it, and slowly sinking into Harry's forearm. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head as a scream broke from both of them: Harry's from pain and Severus's from guilt and horror. Severus's own eyes rolled backwards as his pulse pounded in his ears and he lost consciousness.

"Severus, Severus." Someone's voice droned just above his ear. As far as he was concerned, though, the somewhat familiar voice could go droning on for ages. He needed to sleep... for hours... days... weeks... hell, at the moment, it felt like sleeping an eternity wouldn't be enough to blunt the edge of his exhaustion, but the voice droned on and on almost incessantly. Hoping the annoyance would eventually grow tired of her pestering, Severus kept his eyes closed and tried to sink back into elusive unconsciousness. Regrettably, though, it remained elusive and Severus was forced to listen as the voice turned in conversation to another.

"Albus, I'm sorry. I simply can't wake him up, but there's no reason that he should still be sleeping. His magic seems to have settled in, now that the blocks are off, and there doesn't seem to be any residual damage, which is, quite frankly, astonishing. The only known incidents of adults receiving their magical inheritances after being blocked for so long have all ended tragically. Severus has once again been incredibly lucky. I could not have even calculated the odds against such an excellent outcome – at least not without the aid of a Gringott's statistician."

"Perhaps, he's merely weary from the toll it must have taken on his body. No doubt, the boy could use a bit more time to rest."

"Perhaps," Madam Pomfrey agreed, much to Severus's relief now that he recognized her voice. If she had truly wanted him awake, she would have badgered him and badgered him until he had no choice but admit to his consciousness. As her soft footsteps moved away from the bed, he sighed softly and tried once again to sink back into sleep."

'Wake up. Severus. My dear boy, we need you to wake up. Harry needs you to wake up." As soon as Dumbledore mumbled his son's name, Severus bolted up – remembering his last moment's of consciousness.

"Harry?" he asked in a panic, darting his eyes around the room in search of his son. "Where's Harry?"

Headmaster Dumbledore's silence, when Severus's eyes finally turned toward him after fruitlessly searching the room, was somehow less frightening than the absolute stillness of his eyes, which looked like they had not twinkled in months.

"Headmaster, Where. Is. Harry?" Severus demanded, despite the tension that was threatening to choke him.

"Severus, My Dear Boy. I am truly sorry." Albus radiated with compassion as he expressed his sympathies.

"What? No. He can't. He cannot be..." The word simply wouldn't come. Severus voice shook with pain and denial. It was impossible.

"Severus, no, My Dear Boy, no! He has not passed on," Albus took his arm as he explained and helped him from the cot – leading him to an open doorway that had been blocked from his sight by a medical screen. As he stepped to the doorway and anxiously glanced in, the headmaster continued, "but he was not nearly so lucky as you. He has not passed on, but he did not come away as unmarked... by the experience... as you seem to have. He hasn't woken yet, but no one can discern why, and..."

The doorway lead to a private recovery room – for critical patients: one that Harry had not even used after the disastrous injury on the in his first flying class. One side of the room had been set up as an emergency potions lab; the other an above-standard emergency healing room with, quite literally, every possible ingredient, tool, instrument, and supply that a professional healer might require. In the center, almost as pale as the sheets covering him, lay Harry on a specially charmed bed that Severus recognized as one used with comatose and catatonic patients to prevent bed sores, magical blocks, and muscle calcification.

"I am deeply saddened to tell you that neither Poppy nor any of the Healers, whom we have called in are willing to express much hope that he will." The headmaster's voice softened on the last words, suggesting perhaps that he had more hope than they, but as Severus studied his soon-to-be-son, the Slytherin's tiniest treasure, he found it difficult to to sustain even the smallest whisper of hope that his child would wake. Hope was dangerous, even for the most robust of souls- a lesson it seemed that Ms. Tonks was learning even as they watched.

On the side of the bed closest to the potions lab, an exhausted looking Tonks squeezed out a gauze over an ever-chill bowl before gently stroking it across Harry's exposed forearm, attempting to sooth the still burning tattoo. Severus's throat once more constricted at the scene as he studied the changes in Ms. Tonks: she'd lost weight; her complexion seemed haggard - her hair dull and lifeless; her movements spoke of a perpetual weariness beyond exhaustion that he had become quite familiar with during his studies for his Potions Mastery. Whatever had happened to the three of them seemed to have been extended longer than he had realized on waking as he doubted that someone, as vibrant as she, could have been brought to this state overnight.

"Go to her, Severus. We, none, have been able to make her leave your sides, your's or Harry's, and only Narcissa's concerted efforts have been able to pull her as far away as the Healer's bathing stall to freshen up. (It's behind that screen should you need it.) Poppy has been hexed blue-faced each time she's she tried. Perhaps, you'll have better luck." Albus squeezed Severus's arm, gently propelling him forward before he stepped back into the infirmary proper and closed the door behind him.

As he moved forward almost mechanically, although he was intending to join Ms. Tonks, Severus's eyes could not leave his son's bed. It was only when his palms closed on the railing at the foot of Harry's bed, that she finally took notice of him, and drew his eyes away from the child when she wrapped her arms around him and guided him into the chair she'd been sitting in a moment before.

"Severus," her voice sounded dry and unused as she veritably croaked at him. "I...I'm... sorry. So, sorry. I ... I'll ... go... let you two ... let you have your time with him."

As she began to step away, Severus reached out to catch her hand and held her there. He didn't have the words to tell her that it wasn't necessary for her to leave or that he didn't want to be alone with his son – like this. He had only silence and the soft desperate grip of his hand around hers.


	29. Chapter 29

Tiniest Wish: Darkest Nights, Part 29

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Severus has made big changes in our little waif's life, but as they are both about to discover, changes aren't always comfortable. Italics – flashback.

_"I am deeply saddened to tell you that neither Poppy nor any of the Healers,  
whom we have called in are willing to express much hope that he will."_

_The headmaster's voice softened on the last words, suggesting perhaps that he had more hope than they,  
but as Severus studied his soon-to-be-son, the child he had once called Slytherin's tiniest treasure,  
he found it difficult to sustain even the smallest whisper of hope that his son would wake. _

_Hope was dangerous, even for the most robust of souls- a lesson it seemed that  
Ms. Tonks was learning even as they watched. _

_On the side of the bed closest to the potions lab, an exhausted looking Tonks squeezed out a gauze  
over an ever-chill bowl before gently stroking it across Harry's exposed forearm, attempting to sooth the  
still burning tattoo. Severus's throat once more constricted at the scene as he studied the changes in Ms. Tonks:  
she'd lost weight; her complexion seemed haggard - her hair dull and lifeless; her movements spoke of a perpetual  
weariness beyond exhaustion that he had become quite familiar with during his studies for his Potions Mastery._

_Whatever had happened to the three of them seemed to have been extended longer than he had realized on  
waking as he doubted that someone, as vibrant as she, could have been brought to this state overnight.  
"Severus," her voice sounded dry and unused as she veritably croaked at him. "I...I'm... sorry. So, sorry. I ...  
I'll ... go... let you two ... let you have your time with him." _

_As she began to step away, Severus reached out to catch her hand and held her there. He didn't have the words  
to tell her that it wasn't necessary for her to leave or that he didn't want to be alone with his son –  
like this. He had only silence and the soft desperate grip of his hand around hers. _

Part 29

She stood by his side, silently, for what may have been hours before Madam Pomfrey eventually interrupted to check Harry's vitals and mark various changes onto his chart. When she finally left them again, it broke the silence between them.

"How long?"

"Christmas vacation starts in three days." Ms. Tonks murmured quietly.

"Three days?" he sat back in the chair, incredulous. The last memory he'd had was from almost a week before summer's end.

"Yes." Ms. Tonks confirmed softly.

"And, you have been here the entire time?"

"Yes."

They had lost so much time – the three of them; but in that moment, the time he had lost with her seemed the greater loss - for Harry had slept the time away as he had, and Severus forced himself to maintain the illogical hope that Harry would undoubtedly wake just where they left off. The time lost with Miss Tonks was different.

Before the disastrous shopping trip, Severus had just come to terms with the Narcissa's idea of a Christmas engagement, if not an outright wedding, and now he was returning to consciousness just days before the event was too have occurred to find that she had been by his side the entire time – with little hope that those plans were even possible (that was clear enough from her current state) – yet she had stayed. In his entire memory, he could recall few people outside of his mother, Poppy, and Lily who had ever put his needs ahead of their own, much less their own desires, and health. Yet, the barest appraising glance was proof of her willingness to do so.

The depth of her intentions were confirmed in her visibly fragile state and her weak voice, raw from lack of use. Clearly, where he and Harry had slept the time away, Miss Tonks, who might have gone on with her life as was undoubtedly expected by all - when he had not even made a formal commitment to her, had clearly withdrawn from the world around her to wait for him - for them.

There was much they would need to discuss, but first, there were matters to be seen to. Nodding to acknowledge her response, even if he did not comment, Severus rose and gestured to the chair behind him as he moved to study the potions set up.

"Sit," he ordered firmly when she moved to straighten up the barely disordered tools and utensils that she had spread out to dry after brewing what looked to be a pepper upper potion – judging by the cinnamon bark cooling pad and the cayenne stirring rod.

"It appears that you have maintained at least a minimal facility to break and brew." He commented idly as he began to re-organize the instruments and materials for a cauldron of healer's mead.

"It's a useful skill." Miss Tonks responded with a shrug discarding the soiled gauze pad that she had placed over the dark mark on Harry's forearm moments earlier. "Just after graduating from the Auror Academy, I took the potions certificate from St. Mungo's."

"Impressive." he remarked as he filled a gold cauldron to its five sevenths mark with southern polar water.

"I guess so," she acknowledged as she reached over to retrieve the now dark-magic drenched gauze pad and drop it into a specially charmed banishing can that would suppress the wilder magic before sending it harmlessly into a distant volcano or other safe end. "but it wasn't near as tough as your NEWTS class."

"No, that's true, but when I wrote the curriculum, I was forced to factor in such variables as instructional style and attentiveness, and more often than not a deficiency if not a complete inability to teach. As a result, there were some fewer truly challenging potions presented in the certificate program than in the NEWTS where they would have been presented solely for their theoretical value."

"You wrote the program?" She asked with a flat tone that seemed to weary to even take up a note of surprise, though he suspected from the lift of her eyebrows that she was, in fact quite surprised.

Sliding a charmed measuring blade across a dram vial of pulverized fairy combs, Severus nodded.

"They required the input of an expert in the field who also happened to have battle field experience. As a result, I am quite familiar with the course material; and have heard a detailed account of the duties of novice aurors. To my understanding, quite like healers interns and potions novices, novice aurors are placed under a great deal of rigorous pressure during their first three years to eliminate unsuitable candidates. I can only imagine that the addition of the certificate program must have been taxing."

"I handled it," she softened her retort with a grin, but not enough that Severus missed the note of angry determination in her tone.

"I had no intention of implying otherwise," He assured her quietly, powdered the cayenne stirring rod in dried honeysuckle pollen before dipping it into the cauldron to make precisely nine and three-quarters counterclockwise turns in the infusion. When he finished gently wiping the potion soaked honeysuckle pollen on a residue cloth that he set in the disposal jar – absently noticing that she had maintained the specific countertop setup that he had required his newt level students to maintain- Severus decanted the still cooling potion into a spill-proof goblet and carried it back to Harry's bedside. When he stood beside her, she wearily lifted her head and studied the goblet with a scance of annoyed amusement.

"Healer's meade?" She asked, recognizing the energy-refreshing draught that was famous for its use by healer novices during their exhaustive training years and continued, "I would have brewed it myself, but never seem to get anything that doesn't taste like distilled house elves' undergarments."

Her expressive grimace was rather amusing, but he suppressed his smile as he answered, "Yes, that is a common result of the standard brew; however, I've augmented the brewing somewhat, so I doubt that that the taste will be as... pungent."

"Thanks," she took the goblet with an expression of relief and tossed it back before choking on the brew in surprise.

"It- It's sweet!" she nearly accused, "Like it has honeysuckle or moon flowers."

"Honeysuckle and fairy combs," he agreed mildly as he took the goblet back with a light smirk – wondering if she'd recognize the ramifications.

"Fairy combs? That doesn't make senssse," her voice slurred slightly as she forced her eyes open – studying his face with a bleary gaze. "Fairy com's a sed-satives."

"Quite. As are the moon flower essence and cannibia seed infusion that I added." He commented lightly, setting the goblet down on the tray by Harry's bedside so that he could lift the sleeping auror and place her in the bed by his son. Harry was diminutive enough that he did not even need to move the child over to make room for her.

"I did say it was augmented." He murmured softly as he summoned a blanket to spread over her. As he tucked the blanket around her shoulders he studied her face, taking in the gray pallor of her skin and the thin shading of blue-black bruising under her eyes and around the edges of her lips. During his time as potions novice, he had developed a much similar tone to his skin, but that had also been due to the near constant exposure to high potency potion ingredients. It was only after he had developed his own buffering potion that his skin began to take on a slightly less sallow cast instead of the ghostly gray skin tone that many potion masters suffered the remainder for their lives.

He brushed a ragged strand of her fringe out of her eyes before turning back to study Harry's face. When he did, he suddenly stepped back in shock – seeing something that he had not noticed before, even though he had gazed at the child for over an hour when he had first come in: seeing only his soon to be son's sickly pallor but not the telling similarity to Tonk's skin tone.

"Poppy!" He shouted urgently before turning back to study the two of them.

"What is it, Severus?" The mediwitch rushed in her hands almost fluttering with her anxiety. "His vitals were stable only an hour ago. What's ..."

"His lips." Severus commented sharply, then: "Their lips," and continued his explanation with a quick gesture to the light blue-black tinge that glazed their lips.

"My word. How did you ever get her to..." Madame Pomfrey broke off as she caught the intense gleam in his eyes. "Yes, yes. We know about that. Hearler Edwards said it's only a natural result of the potion being used to leach Harry's ... mark. Miss Tonks knows that it will begin to fade away as soon as ... her exposure to the potion is lessened."

The mediwitch hedged her comments as gently as she could, regretting that she couldn't give him more hope, but the St. Mungo's Healer had already ruled it out as a meaningful symptom.

"Oh, it is. It is." Severus agreed, his eyes sparkling with life and determination. "However, a natural result to the high potency use of moon flowers as a cooling agent in the drawing potion can have serious repercussions if the recipient's system has been made more sensitive to the sedative effects of potions by the use of ... say ... heliotrope in a skeletal rejuvenation potion..."

"Merlin... Over the summer, for his back... we didn't even consider cross potion interactions."

"Nor could you have, as the normal skelegrow and skelefirm potions do not use the higher amounts of heliotrope that I used in Harry's potion."

"So we've... we've been..."

"Potioning my son to sleep." Severus agreed gently – seeing how distraught the mediwitch was becoming at the thought that she had possibly caused Harry further injury.


	30. Chapter 30

Tiniest Wish: Wedding White, Part 30

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback.

_Clearly, where he and Harry had slept the time away, Miss Tonks,  
who might have gone on with her life as was undoubtedly expected  
by all - when he had not even made a formal commitment to her,  
had clearly withdrawn from the world around her to wait for him - for them. _

_There was much they would need to discuss, but first,  
there were matters to be seen to. _

Part 30

"Get your hands off me!" Harry growled at Lady Malfoy. He jerked away from her then stopped stock still and stared at her with broody agitation before turning and running out of the room.

"No." Narcissa ordered quickly as Draco started to run after him. "Harry must learn to recover his composure on his own, Darling."

"But he's in ..."

"Pain? Yes, I know; nevertheless, there is nothing that you can do to to diminish his pain, and you have your own duties to attend to during the ceremony. For instance, it is well past time that you should have changed into your formal robes. You will be expected to greet your godfathers guests in less then twenty minutes."

"I know, but..."

"Draco," his mother's voice turned coldly insistent as she lightly caught his shoulder and turned him toward the dressing room as she gestured to the grand ballroom where her decorator was Madam Marsiella was casting intricate fairy light spells. "This is hardly the appropriate venue to discuss your misgivings."

"Yes, Ma'am." He finally answered softly, realizing that his mother would brook nothing less and left the room with a barely disguised, discontented sigh. Smiling sympathetically at his back, Narcissa waited until he was out of hearing range and turned to her husband with an expectant look.

"Darling..."

"Yes, My Fairest?" Lucius asked suppressing his own smile. He had recognized almost immediately that he would be sent after the child – as soon as Draco was dealt with, but had not wanted to peak her temper with even the slightest suggestion that she was being predictable. Narcissa tended to be ever-so-sensitive during the precursor of events she was to hostess, as Severus had been so pointedly reminded several times during the previous few days, and Lucius was well used to the fact that even the slightest aspersion or bit of seeming reluctance on his part was likely to provoke his wife's sharp response.

"It occurs to me that, outside of Severus, you may be the only person that Harry can trust with his secret, who has any understanding of the stress he is under. More to the point, perhaps, he is less likely to rebel against you as you have quite wisely taken a less than authoritative stance with him of late."

"Of course, you're right, my love, but perhaps Severus would be the ..."

"Severus has other duties today as well. Aside from that, it is well past time that he stopped coddling Harry." Narcissa commented, startling Lucius with her firm stance.

It was true that the formerly mild and somewhat-endearing child had radically changed since finally being woken from his potion induced coma, but the underlying were so empathizing that even Lucius was tempted to feel a pang of sympathy for the boy – having some familiarity with the strain of carrying a dark mark – and had expected his wife to be swayed by her pity for the child.

Harry had not only been suffering constant pain from the mark; but, its underlying charms and spells had also imbalanced the child's magic causing both a serious drain on his core and dramatic, unpredictable mood swings. Worse yet, unlike Severus and Lucius both, Harry would be unable to take any pain suppressants or calming potions until his body had been weaned from its addiction to the sedatives and pain suppressants that had kept him unconscious for four months. The result was a constantly moody, frightened, angry, and rebellious boy that had kept Severus, his fiancée, Draco, and Narcissa on edge for weeks.

"Very well, Darling," Lucius gave in easily; he had planned to comply from the start, but their little gives and takes often let him reserve some leverage for other matters and prevented her from believing that he was one of those weak-willed husbands that could be manipulated on a whim. "It's well within my rights to take umbridge with his tone toward you, and I suppose a few pointed critiques could be worked in."

"Thank you, Dearest, I've simply so much to do, and matters would only be made more difficult if Severus decided for any reason that today is not the most opportune day for their bonding ceremony." Narcissa cast a grateful smile at him and turned back to watch her decorator with a growing scowl.

"No, Madam Marsiella, you are using far too many rainbow and alternating patterns. This is not birthday party, but a bonding ceremony. No. The baby's breath don't need to be charmed in so many multiple shades either. Focus on classic cremes, burnished golds, and classic crystal tones, nothing else. Yes, yes, that's much better."

As she returned to her staging of his friends bonding, Lucius turned from his wife with a light smirk and followed Harry's path out the door. There was very little question of where the child would be; since his release from the infirmary wing Harry seemed to gravitate to the thestral pen at every possible opportunity. Though Lucuis only kept the grotesque winged creatures for show and bragging rights, he could easily understand the appeal to an angst-ridden boy. The malformed creatures seemed the perfect mix of ghoulish predator and gracefully docile pet to appeal to the darker emotions of a unsettled child, and true to his recent form, the boy was standing in the middle of the pen naive of the creatures potential threat with his face pressed into the withered, scaly shoulder of a pensive mare and his hand half resting – half stroking its bristling whithers.

"Mr. Potter," Lucius began sharply causing the thestral to snort and paw at the ground nervously, "Perhaps, you could explain why you would repay my lady's courteous treatment with such blatant disrespect?"

Shaking his head against the creature's shoulder, Harry muttered something that Lucius was certain was a denial.

"I was unaware that Morgana had addressed you, Mr. Potter, but even if she had, it would have been more polite to address her to muzzle instead of her shoulder; as it is, I would prefer that you answer my inquiry before engaging her in wasted conversation." Lucius chastised, patiently attempting to temper his tone with humor.

"I said "no." Harry's dark hair tilted back until he must have been resting his chin on the beast to be heard as he spoke.

"No?" The child's audacity, regardless of his circumstances, was quite unnerving. "Should I take your answer to mean that you refuse to explain yourself or that you recognize that there is no suitable explanation... hmm?"

"No." Harry groaned softly. "I mean neither. I..."

"Mr. Potter," Lucius overrode his explanation icily, "common courtesy would deem that you at least face me while you are responding to a direct question!"

"Huhhhhnnh, fine," the child huffed softly before turning just enough that Lucius could see his face but his tears were almost obscured in the shadow of the thestral's shoulder.

"A minor improvement," Lucius commented, willing to let the child save what face he could- given the circumstances, "but acceptable. Continue."

"I can't explain. I didn't mean or try to be so rude. It's just that... "

"That you're in pain? I was under the impression that your ... unfortunate background had given you some experience in handling pain without turning into an ill-mannered..."

"No, it's not just the pain. It isn't. I can take that. I can. I hate it but I can. It's ..." Turning away again, the boy wiped his face against the animal's withered hide then shook his head with a deep sigh.

"Tell him, Boom." A soft voice echoed from the shadows of the stable.

"Draco, you're mother will be most displeased if she discovers you aren't at the door as you should be." Lucius cautioned softly, before turning back to Severus's adopted son.

"What is it that you are to tell me?" he prompted gently, but Harry shook his head and stared into the shadows, finding his son before Lucius himself could.

"Naja..."

"Tell him. He and Severus know what it feels like and maybe they've even had..."

"You can't know that." Harry protested softly- making no sense to Lucius, though he felt that his son was drawing an important confession from the child. Something having to do with the Dark Mark.

"And, you can't know that he hasn't, that they haven't, until you ask." Draco's voice retorted insistently as his son emerged from the shadows to join his friend by in the pen – still dressed in his wedding white robes and fully the image of an angelic prince parting the darkness, despite the dapples of mud on the hem of his robes.

For the briefest moment, Lucius was taken aback by the sight of his son, the mixture of confidence, concern, and peace that his son seemed to exude as he laid his hand on Harry's shoulder, was somehow completely unfamiliar to Lucius, and he found himself wondering when his son had begun to change without him noticing.

"Naja... what if..."

"No. He won't. They won't. Even if he wanted to, Mum wouldn't let him, and Severus wouldn't let him, and I'm pretty sure Miss. Tonks wouldn't let him either. Trust him, Harry. Tell him."

Although perturbed by the thought that his son was suggesting that he could be prevented from taking some action that he might deem necessary, Lucius was far more intrigued by the prospect that his son was coaxing the child to trust him when Lucius would have sworn that, barely a year earlier, Draco himself had not trusted Lucius enough to tell him the news of their friendship. When had his son's perception of him changed?

Shaking his head, though, Lucius set those questions aside and waited to see if his son's assurances would have any effect. Draco seemed content to wait as well, despite the likelihood of his mother's growing vexation, and was shortly rewarded for his patience when Harry lifted his chin and met Draco's gaze.

As if the child's regard broke the flood gates on secrets that Draco had been holding, his son explained in a rush: "it's not just the pain, though there's lots of that too..." Draco's voice softened as he continued, " He's in a lot of pain; but that's not the worst of it he's also having dreams and flashes of ...dreams - that seem real and like their happening right then and there ...even when he's awake – dreams of things and places that just don't make sense and horrible nightmares -so bad that Milli and I have to cast the silencing spells over top of his because his screams break down the ones he's cast. He hasn't slept the night through in weeks, and he's worried that - with Uncle Severus going on honeymoon- he won't be able to get the potions he needs to get any sleep at all."

Seeming to draw courage from his son's regard, Harry finally confessed: "I think I'm losing my mind."


	31. Chapter 31

Tiniest Wish: Eternal Vows, Part 31

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback.

_As if the child's regard broke the flood gates on secrets that  
Draco had been holding, his son explained in a rush: "it's not just the pain,  
though there's lots of that too... alot of that ... a lot of pain;  
he's also having dreams and flashes of dreams even when he's awake –  
of things and places that just don't make sense and horrible nightmares  
-so bad that Milli and I have to cast the silencing spells because  
Harry's screams break down the ones he's cast. He hasn't slept the night through  
in weeks, and he's worried that - with Uncle Severus going on honeymoon-  
he won't be able to get the potions he needs to get any sleep at all."_

_Seeming to draw courage from Draco's regard,  
Harry finally confessed: "I think I'm losing my mind."_

Part 31

Lucius suppressed a wince when Narcissa cast a third dark glance at him as she listened to Harry repeat his confession. The stillness that settled over her as she heard the child out was almost more concerning to Lucius, however, for Narcissa's temper either flared in a hot, fast burn that was often easily defused with a show of simple regret and a small act of vengeance – or smoldered and built into a vicious blaze that could not be squelched until it incinerated its target.

"No, Harry, dear misguided child, you are in no danger of losing your faculties." Narcissa favored the boy with a sympathetic smile.

"I – I'm n-ot... Are you sure?" Harry's voice wavered anxiously.

"I am certain of it." Narcissa began."However, I feel there is another question equally important."

"Wait," Draco interrupted, "Does that mean that you know what's going on?"

"Certainly. By now, Draco, you would not think that I am foolish enough to make such a comment if I didn't. Harry, may I ask why you have not spoken to your father of this?" Narcissa inquired – attempting to redirect their attention.

Draco's quick knowing glance suggested that she was only partially successful, but thankfully – Harry seemed oblivious to the tactic as he ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"You must know that Severus would have wanted to help you address the issue immediately?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Harry mumbled in a shamed tone.

"- And that your lack of sleep could have indicated or lead to a health concern?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he repeated and dropped his head further.

"Then, may I ask why you chose to withhold such important information from him?"

"I ... I just did. Okay?" Harry huffed moodily, trying to seem petulant and offended that she had asked such a personal question, but Narcissa was no novice to the moods and affects of anxious Slytherin males and cast a light stinging hex across the top of his hand as she chastised: "Discontent and discomfort are weak excuses for discourtesy, Harry, and I assure you that I will not tolerate them any longer."

When Harry shot Draco a surprised look, their son shifted with embarrassment both at his mother for treating Harry like a child – giving the muggle equivalent of a slap on the back of the hand, and at his friend for having earned it. Although Draco knew it was never wise to test his mother when she was in her maternal mode, he shot his friend a sympathetic glance and was relieved to see Harry rubbing the back of his hand with a somewhat bemused expression.

"I guess I deserved that." Harry admitted sheepishly, still rubbing the back of his hand - though Draco knew from experience that the hex wouldn't have lasted that long.

"Yes, you did." Narcissa agreed, pleased that he had accepted her rebuke appropriately.

"I'm sorry about being rude earlier, too, Lady Malfoy. I really didn't mean to be – sometimes things like being touched just ... bother me... a lot."

"Considering your relatives' ill treatment of you, that is only to be expected; however, even that is a weak excuse for such behavior. I am sure you are well aware that you have been completely disrespectful to myself, your father, and Nymphadora – of late."

"Yes, Ma'am." Harry's chin almost rested on his chest in his depression.

"A young man, of your age, should be expected to accept responsibility for his errors and apologize when appropriate. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Ma'am." he sighed as he reached up and ran his fingers through his fringe, barely resisting the urge to pull it down in front of his eyes. If Millicent hadn't fussed at him him enough about trying to hide behind it, he was sure Lady Malfoy would take up the gap.

"Very well, I see no reason to say anything more as long as we understand each other, but before we get further side tracked, you still have not answered my question. Why did you choose to withhold your difficulties from your father?"

"He's not my father." Harry cried out, startling them all with his passionate outburst.

"Have you decided to reject his offer then?" Narcissa asked with barely disguised shock.

"No! But, what if he... what if ... I know I've been difficult and... disrespectful and rude, and so much trouble last year and now that he's getting married." Harry broke off seeming to run out of breath.

Narcissa watched with an approving smile as Draco stepped over to his friend's side, rested his hip against the edge of the love seat, laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, and waited until Harry finally looked up before asking "What are you afraid of Harry?"

After a moment, she stared significantly in Lucius's direction, seeming to demand that he notice what she was seeing.

"What if he decides I'm too much trouble?"

"Harry," Draco sighed patiently, "Uncle Severus thinks through everything he does before hand, down to the smallest detail. I doubt he even picks up a table napkin unless he has decided which direction to pick it up from and the exact degree and angle to lift it first before pulling it to his lips. He wouldn't have gone through the adoption process if he hadn't carefully considered every element before hand – including the fact that you can't even seem to play gobstones without getting hurt."

"That wasn't my fault." Harry protested to Draco's clear amusement, "I didn't know that Goyle was going to throw a rock at the squirrel above us."

"I wasn't saying it was your fault, just your luck that you would be the one to stand up just at the moment he was trying to throw it."

"Oh." Harry blushed, embarrassed by his childish complaint. "Okay."

"Harry, you don't possibly think that your being so frequently injured has been your fault; do you?" Narcissa asked softly.

Glancing quickly away, Harry hesitated before answering for several seconds. He expression showed that he was clearly considering lying to her, but finally nodded.

"May I ask why, precisely, you've come to this conclusion?" She pressed.

"I'm just clumsy." He commented softly. "I sort of fall into trouble."

"You weren't clumsy on the broom when you saved me." Draco retorted firmly and looked to his mother for affirmation.

"Nor, have I noticed any particular lack of grace or coordination during your dance lessons. In fact, you have progressed further in the art than many boys your age and may very well reach if not exceed Draco's skill level shortly, despite the fact that he began several years earlier than you." Narcissa agreed.

"Really?" Harry's voice held a note of surprise as he looked up at Draco with hesitant pride, uncertain whether Draco would be pleased with her comment. His cousin, Dudley, would have been furious, and Harry was never sure when he would find Draco's sore point – and ruin their friendship. Draco smiled an encouraging smile, though, so he suspected that everything would be alright because he was getting better at recognizing the variations of Draco's Slytherin mask, and his smile seemed genuine.

"Now, while I agree that we should, perhaps, forestall bringing Severus up to date on your current concerns (including your baseless fears that he might suddenly change his mind on such and important decision) until after he and his bride return from their post-nuptial sabbatical, there is no need for you to be concerned that this will go un-addressed until that time. As both your father and Lucius can attest, I am possessed of no small talent in potions, myself, and had circumstances been otherwise when I was younger, I would have been considered for mastery on my own merits. Additionally, there are several concentration exercises that Draco and I can help you learn – to diminish these troubling 'flashes'. When your father returns, we should have them well in hand, and no doubt, he will be much relieved to hear that when you finally inform him of the secrets you've been keeping."

"Yes, Ma'am." Harry murmured softly- his expression a mix of hope, relief, and shame.

"Good." Narcissa favored both children with a severe inspection before shaking her head and ordering, "Now, it is nearly time for your father's guests to arrive if not past time, so I suggest that the two of you hasten back to your rooms and change into the formal white robes laid out for the occasion. Thankfully, Draco, I anticipated at least one visit to the thestral pens during the ceremony or the reception afterward and commissioned a second set made for each of you, but only a second set, so I do hope that I will not have to say anything more on the matter."

Both boys had the grace to look sheepish and rush out with a quick "Yes, Ma'am," before more could be said. Although he chuckled at the their fast retreats, moments later, Lucius was almost wishing that he had joined them.

As soon as it was clear that the boys had taken the opportunity to make a clean exit, Narcissa turned on Lucius with the iciest expression he could ever remember seeing her wear.

"Lucius, the very second Severus and Nymphadora take their exits, you are going to make your pardons to the children and our guests and explain to them that you have just been informed of an important meeting that you can not miss out on; then you will do anything and everything that it takes to cleanly extricate yourself from the muddle you have created. I do not care how many vaults you have to empty or oaths you have to buy, but you will make sure that there is not a trace of evidence nor a witness of any sort that can suggest your involvement in condemning the poor Weasley children to their fate. Work quickly but carefully, for I've no doubt that Severus will be apprised when he returns from his honeymoon and, unlike Harry, will certainly see your hand in this as easily as I have. He, however, will wait for evidence before hexing you, so it's in your best interest to be certain that there be none for him to find."

"Narcissa, my fairest," Lucius coaxed and cast a wordless protego just in time to miss the very potent stinging hex that razed his face like a sharp open-handed slap.

"No, Lucius, I warn you. Do not attempt to wheedle and bargain your way out of this. It will not work. I had hoped that you would have seen enough at Harry's birthday party to dissuade you from this disastrous scheme of yours."

"Scheme?" He barked sharply, to irritated to cast another protego and suffered for it. "You know this is..."

"Oh, I know your goals. I am well versed in them, but as noble as they may be or sound, I cannot fathom why you are so quick to cast your lot with an uncaring, imprudent, and immoral leader, who had so little courage or nobility that he persecuted and attempted to execute an infant. A magical child who was too young to even recognize the threat he posed, much less the lift a wand against him."

"The prophecy..."

"Where in the prophecy did it say that it would be honorable for a fully trained adult to execute an infant, My dearest? Yes, it said that Harry would have the power to stop the Dark Lord, but did it say how or that there would even be a battle? Not even Severus could tell us that, and he heard the prophecy first hand - and yet, your liege, decided that it warranted his executing a child – an infant: instead of allowing him the chance of facing honorably him as an adult."

Studying her husband's perplexed expression, she coaxed with a gentle but condescending tone: "Did you not watch Harry at his birthday? He turned the entire audience to his wishes with his simple speech. If Elizabeth had not intervened, it is entirely possible that they– light and dark wizards both - would have been caught up in the fervor for justice and ended that disgusting muggle's life without a second thought. Did you not think to count how many wands were trained on the brute by adults and children both: all wanting to protect Harry and take vengence? Have you not seen how Severus has been changed by the child? How Draco has changed? Harry may indeed possess the power suggested in the prophecy – but that in no way necessitates that he would have been the Dark Lord's enemy. Harry might have as easily ended the Dark Lord's campaign by brokering peace, but Lord Voldemort acted rashly ... to his peril – as you have – to ours without even a qualm."

"Cissa, he's being brought back as a child, Darling: just a few years older than Draco, himself. We'll be able to guide him and help him come to power without jeopardizing Harry or Draco. Harry has no reason to love muggles – quite the opposite, and the Dark Lord can make use of that. Harry will be fine."

"Lucius, I married the Lord of the Malfoy family," Narcissa proclaimed – icy fire flaring in her eyes as she stared him down and continued "not a slave nor a fool. Remember yourself – remember the wizard that I chose – he was not a man who could so blithely talk about exploiting the child of his oldest friend... a child who has done so much for our own child. Remember yourself, for if you do not, I warn you that I will not stand idly by and allow you to give yourself over to him again."

Her wand was still drawn and, from her frozen countenance, Lucius was almost certain that she was sorting through hundreds of hexes for the most painful she could think of to use if he objected; whichever hex it would be, he had no doubt that it would break through his best shield spell, but he cast one anyways and was just reinforcing it before he spoke -- when the strains of the wedding march caught their attention.

"Go, Lucius. I will make your apologies and let the happy couple know that you are engaged in unavoidable matters that came late to your attention." Narcissa dictated in an even tone, seeming the perfect hostess once again.


	32. Chapter 32

Tiniest Wish: Post Nuptuals, Part 32

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback. 

"_Severus will be apprised when he returns from his honeymoon, and unlike Harry,  
he will certainly see your hand in this as easily as I have. He, however, will  
wait for evidence before hexing you, so it's in your best interest to be certain  
that there is none for him to find."_

The Tiniest Wish, 32

With an air of bemusement, Severus watched as Nymphadora grabbed her carefully folded clothes from the drawer with a crumpling grip and threw them into her her travel case. He suspected that she was aware of his study, but was too proud (or too irrationally angry at him) to meet his gaze. When she finally slammed the case's lid and - realizing that she no longer had an excuse to avoid him – glanced up with an expression just short of a glare, Severus barely suppressed the urge to smirk at her as he gestured to their shared bed.

"Sit."

She lifted her chin defiantly and refused to sit by him for the space of a breath before she realized what she was doing and had the grace to blush and look away. After a moment, though, she dropped onto the bed with a sigh and fixed her eyes on a water glass she'd left sitting in the window sill. 

"Would you care to explain why you are peeved with me?"

"I'm not," she answered hurriedly, shifting uncomfortably as she continued, "You haven't done anything wrong. I'm not mad at you."

"Yet, your behavior suggests otherwise," he pressed, letting the slightest sardonic tone slip into his voice as he pressed her feeble denial.

"I'm not." She lied unconvincingly, "Really, I'm not mad. Why should I be mad? You haven't done anything wrong." Heaving a gusty sigh, she complained, "Merlin's balls, you should be mad at me- after finding out that I married you because of some stupid crush."

After waiting a short beat for his response, her expectant eyes on him waiting impatiently until, barely two seconds later, she jumped up from the bed, turned to face him, and accused: "You should be mad. Why aren't you? You should be furious." 

Favoring her with a patient, half-smile, that he only barely managed to keep from being condescending, in a more tactful tone than he used with anyone outside of his Slytherin seven, Severus began, "Nymphadora, do you truly think that I was unaware of the possibility? That I would have ignored the fact that the memories you recounted to Harry were of events likely to inspire your infatuation? That – after eleven years of teaching adolescents – I was unable to recognize the traits of such an infatuation?"

"Then why?" she asked shrilly, "Why would you marry someone who just had a crush on you? Why not wait for something real? Someone you can feel something for? Is it just because of Harry?"

"I was under the impression that we had sufficiently addressed that question last night." He referred gently to the uncomfortable dinner discussion from the evening before that had lead to her realization and revelation that she did not really know or understand the man she had married, but had instead pledged herself to a rose-colored perception of him tainted by the memories of the compassion he had shown her when she was child.

"Oh, yes. I remember. You were flattered by my infatuation and impressed with my dedication during your convalescence. My companionship is... what was the phrase you used? Generally nontaxing and occasionally even pleasant. Did I forget anything?"

"Yes, a great deal; however, I strongly suspect that you are hardly of the mindset to accept my comments objectively, much less in the tone they were intended. So, instead, let me address what I believe to be your root concern- that you believe I do not feel 'something' for you, but instead, married you solely to secure a mother for my son.

To that end, as I said before, yes, it has been a rare event that witches other than yourself have viewed me positively in any sense, so your 'crush' -as you call it- was gratifying. I appreciate your dedication to myself and my son as it reflects a generosity of concern that I have found equally rare. I have often found your companionship nontaxing and pleasant (traits that can be used to describe very, very few other witches or wizards). Nor have I been unaffected by your other charms: a fact that I believe we have explored and have proven to our mutual satisfaction." Drawling the last word as he cast a significant glance to the decorative pillow that they had retrieved from the floor that morning, he quirked his lips as she caught his allusion and blushed brightly. 

"But, as you suggested, Harry is not to be removed from the equation. As I believe I have mentioned, I am well aware of the difficult and taxing effects of a turbulent union on the children involved: effects that I have no intention of allowing Harry to suffer in any shape or form. Subsequently, if gratification, appreciation, and ... satisfaction were the only impressions I harbored for you, there is no conceivable circumstance in which I would have considered allowing our marriage, despite Narcissa's frequent and insistent prompts." 

Severus allowed her some moments, in silence, to break his comments down to their core meaning, and finally smiled lightly at her when comprehension broke her frown and she favored him with soft smile in return.

"My commitment toward you may not be demonstrated in the gushing, irrational, self-deluding gryffindor'ish proclamations of passion that you were attempting to force from me yesterday evening, if not the entire day (in fact, I can guarantee that it will not); nevertheless, it does not cease to exist for its lack thereof. I can, further, assure you that I have no intention of eschewing your needs or desires if it is in my power to see them fulfilled."

"Oh really?" She asked with a smirk – and the realization that, for him, even such a convoluted statement of his 'commitment' toward her was probably far outside of his comfort zone. "And, how do you intend to see them fulfilled?"

As his bristling eyebrows rose into a sardonic arch, Nymphadora barely kept from giggling. There was something intrinsically cute about his exasperation and his continued attempts to restrain himself from chastising her as he commonly did to adults and students alike. If nothing else, she should have realized from that alone that he felt a little something for her. What, outside of commitment, she didn't quite know, but until the night before, she really hadn't realized that she didn't really know him at all. He was right, in that. She had only looked at him as the wizard who had helped her heal when she was in so much pain, and the dance coach who had kept the other girls from teasing her. She knew virtually nothing of him as a person down to the fact that he seemed to abhor capers but would accept the anchovies that she picked off her salad without even the slightest comment about he 'deplorable eating habits'.

"I'm not asking for a 'gryffindor'ish proclamation of passion." This time she did giggle. "I'm just a little curious."

"Very well, if you find you need more in depth reassurances. While I cannot predict the circumstances, soundly enough, to make unbreakable promises; I intend to use every resource within my grasp to facilitate your rise through the ministry despite the minister's barely veiled pureblood prejudices. Narcissa can certainly be compelled to ease your introduction into society circles that will allow you opportunities that might have otherwise been denied. As long as I can break and brew, neither you nor Harry will ever be forced to rely on the second rate strainings of apothecaries, nor half-trained healers."

Rolling her eyes at his statements, Nymphadora was surprised and impressed. Most wizards would have expected her to happily retire from the auror corp and raise as many little witches and wizards she could push out. That he had intended to support her in her job as well as help her rise if she wished it was a great relief because she had already anticipated numerous arguments on the subject. 

"On a more personal note," he continued in a soft tone. "I can promise with certainty that, barring the use of an imperious, I will never treat you in any manner similar to the manner my father used toward my mother." 

"Oh, Sev." Nymphadora sighed softly as she reached up to brush a stray hair behind his ear. 

"Nymphadora," he answered simply, catching her hand and pressing it to his cheek before pulling it down toward his lips. 

For a brief moment, she had a vague hope that it might progress into something more, but then he stilled and lifted his head to gaze out the window – just as she heard the hoot of an owl from the window sill.


	33. Chapter 33

Tiniest Wish: Belated Wedding Gifts, Part 33

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback.

"_On a more personal note," he continued in a soft tone._

"_I can promise with certainty that, barring the use of an imperious, _

_I will never treat you in any manner similar_

_to the manner my father used toward my mother." _

"_Oh, Sev." Nymphadora sighed softly as she reached up _

_to brush a stray hair behind his ear. _

"_Nymphadora," he answered simply, catching her hand _

_and pressing it to his cheek before pulling it down toward his lips. _

_For a brief moment, she had a vague hope that it might progress _

_into something more,but then he stilled and lifted his head to gaze_

_out the window – just as she heard the hoot of an owl _

_from the window sill._

**The Tiniest Wish, 33**

"May I ask why Kingsley's owl has the impertinence to show up at a -presumably- undisclosed location in what would have

been the middle of our month-long honeymoon?" Severus asked with a trace of amused irony, wondering if his new wife

would admit that she had informed her superior of the location to their unplottable getaway. There would have been no other

way for the owl to have gotten through the wards surrounding the Lucius and Narcissa's chateau.

"Well..." She answered nervously as she rose to retrieve the message tied to the owl's foot. "We were going home early."

"Yes;" he agreed to her vague, half answer, but pressed lightly, "however, I did not even inform Harry of our early return."

Severus did not, in truth, mind that Nymphadora had informed Kingsley, another order member, of their location; in any event,

it would have been a tad hypocritical of him to object when he had informed Albus, but he was curious whether she would

believe that she had the skill to hide it from him.

Her answer went unsaid, however, as she read the small scroll a second time and glanced up at him with a hesitant smile.

"Well, if he's not expecting us, maybe there's time for a side trip?"

After a moment, she held out the scroll out and waited anxiously as he read:

Dora, Madam Eileen Snape has been located at the Hill Station

Sanitarium,in West Bengal,Tibet, where she has been under treatment

for acute depression, for the past sixteen years and was under the impression

that her son was murdered by his father. Her treatment was being paid for

through a trust fund set aside by Thomas Marvolo Riddle. Madam Snape

stated that it was this Mr. Riddle who came to her previous hospital, informed her

of her son's death, and offered to relocate her without her husband's knowledge.

She is awaiting your visit.

The words hit Severus with the impact of a particularly strong explosion of potions, say something like mixing Dragon's blood

with basilisk venom and sunflower essences... sweeping his feet out from under him. Thankfully the bed was close behind his

knees so that he landed where he'd been sitting with a slightly ungraceful 'phumph' as his breath left his lungs in a rush.

Although he wanted to look up at his wife, who had rushed over to kneel beside his leg, and was (he could feel) staring at

him with concern, his eyes were riveted to Kingsley's ornate script. Every word was clear, succinct, and conceivable, but at the

same time, so unbelievable.

"Sev, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I ... I only had a suspicion... when you said that Voldemort was the one who told

you that your father had killed your mum. I didn't know for sure and didn't want to raise your hopes if I was wrong. I just

didn't think you could completely trust anything the old bastard said. I... Do you... Do you want to go see her?" Nymphadora's

concern came out in a rush of words that he almost didn't understand.

"Sev? Are you alright?" She asked again with a lightly cracking tone.

He nodded, or at least thought he did, but she must have seen something because she stopped asking and rubbed her hand

up and down his forearm. He lost track of time as they sat unmoving, both eventually lost in their own thoughts until the owl

disrupted their quiet daze by launching himself from the window sill and sweeping away. Although Severus usually

disregarded the general details of the arrival and departure of owls, he was suddenly very aware of the soft thrushing sound

that the owl's wings made as the moved through the air. The sunlight reflecting off the owl's crown had the light golden glint

of afternoon sun- warning him of the coming day. He watched it until the owl decided was a safe distance out before it

apparated.

"Was that Kingsley?" He asked with bemusement, not quite ready to address her discovery.

"Oh, shite. He'll kill me. I wasn't supposed to tell you." She cursed.

"You didn't. If he'd like to keep it a secret, he would be well advised to remember that owls generally can not apparate."

"Hey, you're right." She smiled softly, accepting his choice/change of topic without comment. "I'll have to find just the right

time to point that out. He makes a pretty owl though doesn't he?"

"Yes, and a discrete one." Severus commented approvingly before turning to her with serious eyes. Despite being published

in numerous journals and potions quarterlies, Severus recognized there were times when he was little more than clumsy if

not out right imbecilic in trying to express himself. Without the swirl of thoughts diving and zig-zagging through his mind, he

had no doubt that this would have been one of those times, and chose instead to communicate more directly. Slipping his

hand under her arm and around her back, he pulled her into an embrace as he lifted her to his level. After a moment, he

lightened his hold, lifted his free hand to catch her cheek, and turned her face toward him until their lips met. If she felt the

traces of tears running down his cheek as they kissed, for once he did not care that someone else was privy to his emotions,

and he poured himself completely into their kiss.


	34. Chapter 34

Tiniest Wish: A Priori, Part 34

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback.

A/N: I'm aware the formatting of the previous chap went a bit wonky, I've tried to fix it twice without luck. Hoping for the best when I post this.

_Dora, Madam Eileen Snape has been located at the Hill Station _

_Sanitarium,in West Bengal,Tibet, where she has been under treatment _

_for acute depression, for the past sixteen years and was under the impression_

_that her son was murdered by his father. Her treatment was being paid for_

_through a trust fund set aside by Thomas Marvolo Riddle. Madam Snape_

_stated that it was this Mr. Riddle who came to her previous hospital, informed her_

_of her son's death, and offered to relocate her without her husband's knowledge._

_She is awaiting your visit._

_The words hit Severus with the impact of a particularly strong explosion of potions, _

_say something like mixing Dragon's blood with basilisk venom and sunflower essences..._

_sweeping his feet out from under him. Thankfully the bed was close behind his knees _

_so that he landed where he'd been sitting with a slightly ungraceful 'phumph' _

_as his breath left his lungs in a rush. Although he wanted to look up at his wife, _

_who had rushed over to kneel beside his leg, and was (he could feel) staring at him _

_with concern, his eyes were riveted to Kingsley's ornate script. Every word was clear, _

_succinct, and conceivable, but at the same time, so unbelievable. _

**The Tiniest Wish, 34**

Severus stared into his tea, avoiding his mother's intense gaze as he answered her latest questions about everything that had occurred since the time that she had been hospitalized. It felt as if she suspected him of lying and was trying to trip him up in some manner; although he was fairly certain that she recognized him as her son. Something in the glint of her eyes as she watched him spoke of recognition, but not entirely of trust or any other familial feeling. Perhaps, it had been so long that he was little more than a memory too her, the memory of a child, long dead to her.

"Madam Snape," Narcissa interrupted his mother's questions in a polite tone, "May I offer you more croissants?"

"No, thank you." Eileen Snape studied her closely before turning her gaze back to her son and his wife, who were sitting on the love seat across from her. She didn't quite know what to make of the pair. Obviously, her son had chosen a witch several years his junior, but as to why he'd felt the need to – she hadn't decided yet. The young woman was pleasant enough and solicitous of her son, and had from the moment that she had first seen them, done everything he'd asked, without question, but that in itself wasn't enough to tell her anything about their relationship.

"Father!" A happy shout interrupted her study as a young boy ran into the room and to the pair across from her. When she glanced back in the direction he'd entered from, she noticed a young blond child standing in the doorway watching them with amusement. Glancing back to the small, clearly underfed child in front of her, Eileen felt her throat tighten as she watched the child stiffen into a proper bow as he came to a stop in front of her son. As she got a better look at him, her worst fears were confirmed, and she felt a burst of rage welling up within her as the child spoke excitedly.

"Father, Lady Snape, I didn't know you were back. I'm so happy to see you. I wanted to write a letter while you were on your vacation, but Lady Malfoy said it would more appropriate for me to apologize in person for the way I was acting before you left. I ... I wasn't feeling good, and was acting out badly because of it, but Lady Malfoy's helped me a lot, and I feel so much better. I haven't ..."

"Breath Harry," Severus's young wife laughed at his rush of words, before asking, "and what's this with calling me Lady Snape?"

"I'm sorry," the child blushed with embarrassment as their hostess explained, "Nymphadora, I simply explained that it is no longer appropriate for him to call you Ms. Tonk's now. Whatever personal names you use between yourselves is up to you, of course, but please try to keep them socially appropriate."

"Oh, of course," Nymphadora replied with a smile, but their levity was lost on Eileen, who was staring at the anxious child, who was , in turn, staring in turn at her son. As her son opened his mouth to answer the child, it was too much for Eileen.

"So, I see that you have inherited more from your father than simply his looks." She commented in a scathing note.

"Pardon me," Severus asked in a shocked tone. "To what trait are you referring?"

"Do you think that I can not see the glamors draped over the child as thick as a duvet, Severus? What am I referring to? Do you think I cannot see his scars... scars not even hidden by his clothing? I would not have expected you to beat your own child, Severus, just like your father or are you even more cruel than he?"

* * *

Severus stared at her, aghast, too shocked ... and too hurt to even to gather his thoughts for a response. The others stared at dumbfounded at the elderly woman – all but for Harry, who spun on her with a shout.

"No. No, he's not. He's nothing like his father. He's not. He's never hurt me."

"Child, you do not need to defend your parents when they have clearly behaved badly toward..."

"He's not. He's not a bad parent. He's not... you are. You let his father hurt him. You let him do it. You didn't do anything to stop it. You never even tried to stop it... never tried to stop him. You let him. You acted like you never knew, and you let him do it."

The emotion and anger that he heard in his adopted son's voice shook Severus out of his stupification, but before he could think to chastise his son, Harry's angry rant continued and it was immediately clear to Severus that the focus of his son's words had changed in the moments before, whether the child realized it or not.

"You knew what he was doing. I know you did. The belt, the cigarettes, the kitchen knife. I know you knew what he did. I know it. Every time he held me under the dishwater. You knew, you knew, and you never stopped him. My head and t-shirt were soaked, and you just ignored it. Fussing at me because I was throwing up the dirty water until I was crying from it, and you just told me to stop sniveling and threw me in the cupboard with the trash. Locked me in again and again."

"Why didn't you help me?" He cried out angrily, startling them all with his violent cry before he continued, "You were supposed to help me. You were supposed to take care of me, not lock me in the cupboard. It was so dark in there and creepy. Everything was so covered with dust that it made it hard to breath and so tight that I felt like there wasn't any air left... and the trash smelled so bad it made me smell bad, too. The other kids at school always asked if I lived in a rubbish bin. Dudley always laughed that you kept throwing me away, but that I kept crawling out of the bin before the trolley men could dump it." His pained words poured out in a breathless rush. The child's throat was so tight as he had yelled at her that he had to pant for air between words though he still seemed caught up in whatever moments in the past he was reacting so strongly to. "Uncle Vernon just kept at it. He never stopped; no matter what, and you were supposed to help, but you never did. Not even when he locked me in there and wouldn't feed me for days. You could have fed me after he went to work, but I had to eat out of the rubbish if I wanted to eat. And, then, you took the bin out when you caught me doing that. You could have fed me. You could have let me out ... if only for a little while ... until he came back. You could have done that I know you could. I never would have told. You could have helped me. You could have... You could have ..."

"Could have what?" Eileen prompted, realizing that the poor child had to get what he was trying to say out.

"You could have ..." He paused swallowing the words he had almost said and finished, "You could have tried...instead of throwing me away. I'm not trash." The child's voice broke on his last statement, and he stood staring at her with flaring eyes and clenched fists as if he was daring her to deny his accusations, even though they clearly had nothing to do with her.

Eileen watched with surprise as her son came up behind the child, wearing what appeared to be an unnaturally soft expression for his features. Resting a hand on the child's shoulder, Severus whispered, "Harry, child, can you hear me? Calm down. It's okay. Calm down. Take a breath. That's it. That's it. Calm down, Child. It's not going to happen again. I ... We, Nymphadora and I, will never ignore you when you are in pain. We will never deny you, never lock you away. You are safe now. You're Uncle will never touch you, hurt you, or mistreat you - ever again."

At any moment, Eileen expected her son to turn angry, resentful eyes on her, but his gentle gaze remained firmly fixed on his son as he repeatedly reiterated his litany of assurances until the child slowly calmed and allowed himself to be turned to face his guardian. As Severus's words broke through his son's feverish refrain, the child began to tremble fiercely – shaking so violently that Eileen was certain that the child would not have been able to stay on his feet, if it were not for her son's gentle grip on his shoulders.

* * *

"Narcissa, is there even a shade of a possibility that you might have a calming draught on hand?"

Narcissa nodded quietly and swept out of the room to retrieve it, not wanting Severus to see the state of her private potions lab, where she had several cauldrons of dreamless sleep brewing at different stages, and one cauldron of a potion that he would quickly recognize as the antidote to veritaserum. From Lucius's owls, Narcissa was finally becoming convinced that he had satisfactorily extracted himself from the mad scheme he had entangled them in, but Severus was not a wizard to take chances with, and she had no doubt what his reaction would be if he discovered that Lucius had a hand in reviving Voldemort, in any form, or even delivering the diary to one could. After collecting a vial of both the calming draught and the dreamless sleep potions, she hurried back into the room and handed them off to her friend, who took a quick sniff of each vial to check their quality, then hurriedly thanked her and turned back to Harry, whose face had paled to a bloodless white, as his eyes flickered back and forth between Severus and Eileen, apparently very aware of his ... lapse.

* * *

"Harry, here child, take a sip of this." Severus coaxed the still trembling child as the boy stared at him miserably before beginning to apologize.

"I... I'm... I didn't mean to..."

"Hush, child," Severus coaxed gently, completely unaware that his wife had taken his mother aside, cast a silencing spell around them, and appeared to be setting her mother-in-law straight on the circumstances underlying their relationship.

"No, please, you have to understand." Harry insisted, "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to get mad. I didn't mean to get mad. I didn't mean to yell at her. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Child, there is no need to apologize." Severus interrupted his attempt to redeem himself for his lapse. "No one is upset with you, Harry. Now, take a sip of the potion. It will ease this needless anxiety."

"Please. You have to listen to me." Harry tried again, more insistently.

"Very well," his father sighed as he recognized that the child's survival tactic, of taking all the blame on himself for any unpleasant event, had been too ingrained by the Dursley's blatant abuse for Harry to think straight until his emotions had been calmed until then Harry would not be in a state to truly hear him. The calming potion had to be ingested. "If you will take three sips of the calming draught, to ensure that you have the ability to speak calmly and rationally, I will hear you out until you are satisfied that you have made your point. I believe that should be a reasonable request that should fulfill both of our purposes."

When the child rolled his eyes impatiently, even as he nodded, Severus almost laughed at the gesture. His mother's words had apparently called up a bit of Lily's protective nature in the child, and Severus was thrilled to see it... even if the child had pulled back form his rare display of anger and was attempting to apologize for it now. In Severus's opinion, the child's anger toward his former guardians was well over due, having not shown itself again since the child's audacious comments at his birthday party, despite the irritable brat-ish behavior that he had displayed with odd randomness since the child had woken in the infirmary. Practically grabbing at the vial in Severus's hand, Harry quickly took the three required, if not a bit bigger than required, sips, making certain that his father saw, and started again.

"I didn't mean to get so angry. I really didn't." Harry apologized in the defensive tone of a much younger child, "but she was wrong. You're not like him at all." He insisted and waited with a look of expectation for Severus to acknowledge the truth of his comment.

"She was wrong about you."Harry insisted when Severus's answer wasn't forthcoming.

"I know, Harry, just as your aunt was wrong about you." Harry rocked back on his heels at Severus's quiet declaration, and Severus was certain that Harry wanted to pull away so that he would not have to deal with the ugly emotions hiding beneath the surface of his ever-present self-doubt.

"I know," the child replied sullenly, but his failure to meet Severus's eyes denied his acceptance of the thought.

"Do you?"

"Yes, of course. They're not the experts on the magical world. You've already gotten that through my thick skull. They don't understand enough about magic to know that they don't have to fear it; I know that. I have been paying attention."

Ignoring the taint of impudence in his son's tone, Severus met his eye with an intentionally critical glance, as if appraising him.

"You know, I have," the child whinged plaintively.

"Then, may I ask why you feel the need to apologize for defending both me -and, for once, yourself- in the comments you made to my mother?"

"I already told you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at her. She didn't do those things I said. I know that." Harry huffed with frustration.

"That is not what I was referring to Harry. Let me rephrase it and ask you this way, when you clearly know that her suspicion of me was incorrect, and you claim that you realize that your aunt's comments were equally incorrect – why do you feel the need to apologize for defending the two of us? Why do you feel that apologizing to me is even more important that complying with my request to take the calming draught?"

The child stared at him with a mix of frustration, anxiety, and confusion – completely unprepared and unused to considering the logic of his conditioned responses. His eyes practically glowed with emotions that he couldn't release, and Severus could almost feel Harry's desperation to give the answer that he thought Severus wanted to hear, but the child had not even the slightest concept of what he was asking for and finally admitted it in a choked "I don't know."

* * *

When Eileen was finally released from her daughter-in-law's scathing lecture, she turned to stare at her son in astonishment. To all outward appearances, he was his father incarnate; his appearance, his clothing, his bearing,and manner – everything that she saw of him was identical to the Tobias Snape that she had known in her youth. Everything but the fact that Tobias would never have wed a witch with such a volatile temper as her daughter-in-law had just demonstrated very vocally; Tobias had loathed his own children and would never have ever considered adopting the child of a former rival; nor, would he have ever knelt on the floor in front of the child hoping to coax the child into recognizing and defending his own worth.

Tobias's sole drive in life had been to destroy the self-worth of everyone that he came into contact with, and – knowing that it could not have come from her – Eileen wondered where her son had found the strength to have broken away from the mold of his parents.

* * *

"No, I truly believe you don't. Let me ask this, then, is there even the slightest possibility that you believe in your aunt's actions?" Severus asked neutrally, pained by the withering hope in Harry's eyes, but he could not allow the child to ignore the rocky foundations of his fragile self-esteem.

"No." Harry denied, backing out of Severus's hands as he shook his head.

"I'm not. I'm not..." He defended himself almost desperately in a voice that quavered with anxiety, as if he expected Severus to refute both him and his statement of wavering self worth.

"Not what, Harry?"

Despite the neutral tone that Severus was trying to hold onto for Harry's sake, he found himself almost holding his breath as he waited for his child to answer.

"Not what?" he prompted again when Harry remained silent.

"T- - tra-sh." Harry murmured in a soft, broken tone. "I'm not trash."

"No," Severus answered softly, curling a finger under Harry's chin and lifting it until their eyes met.

"No, you are not. You are a talented young wizard; a gentle, loyal friend; a dedicated student; and a son, whom I am very proud of. You are a survivor, Harry, and you should be proud of the fact that you have become the person you have - in spite of their vile treatment."

Unshed tears sparkled in Harry's eyes when he looked at the wizard, who as his teacher, head of house, mentor, guardian, and adopted parent, knew him probably better than anyone else in the world – with the exception of his dorm mates and best friends, Millie and Draco- and tried to believe in what Severus was saying. He tried as hard as he could to, but it was still hard. It wasn't just his aunt and uncle, who had thought he was worthless; his teachers, neighbors, the other kids in school, so many people hadn't thought he was worth their time, effort, or caring. It was just hard to believe, but he nodded anyway because he knew his father wanted him to believe it.

His father must have read something of his feelings in his eyes though, because his father's smile saddened slightly, but he said nothing about Harry's small deceit – only handed him the rest of the vial and turned to face his mother, who was had approached as they were talking.

* * *

"Severus, I am truly ..."

"No mother, there is not need to apologize." Severus interrupted before she could get farther, recognizing traces of contrition in her expression. "You had no way of knowing that what you were saying was not true, but I would ask you, for the sake of your future grandson, to please avoid blundering into potentially sensitive issues without inquiring into their circumstances before hand."

Turning away from her without any further comment, Severus searched the room for his wife and finally glanced at Narcissa in inquiry.

"I'm not certain. She was here a moment ago, but..."

"She's out by the fountains... I think she was crying." Draco supplied softly before he walked past to join Harry.

"Harry..."

"I'm going upstairs," Harry sighed in resignation, knowing that Severus had been about to send him upstairs to rest. As he passed Eileen, though, he paused briefly to apologize.

No sooner than he had finished and both boys left, Eileen gasped in surprise and turned to Severus, with an unspoken question in her eyes.

"Mother?"

"His eyes? His eyes looked so familiar, but how could that be?"


	35. Chapter 35

Tiniest Wish: A Fortiori, Part 35

Tiniest Wish: A Fortiori, Part 35

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback.

_No sooner than he had finished and both boys left, Eileen gasped in surprise and turned to Severus, _

_with an unspoken question in her eyes._

_"Mother?"_

_"His eyes? His eyes looked so familiar, but how could that be?"_

**Tiniest Wish, Part 35**  
"Familiar?" Severus asked thoughtfully, before shaking his head after searching his memory briefly.

"I don't see how it would be possible." He finally concluded, " You never met Lily."

"Lily? That was Lily Evan's child?"

"I was not aware that you even knew Lily's last name." Severus commented in a soft note of surprise. He had always been certain (even in his early youth) that his mother had been too entrenched in her own difficulties to be aware of his friendship with Lily.

"I was not completely unaware of your comings and goings, Severus. ... in fact, I may have just chanced to happen upon your journals on occasion."

"You read them?" Severus asked - paling at the memory of some of the passages that he had written .

"Only to feel as if I had some contact with you. I apologize for invading your privacy." She returned curtly glancing away with tense embarassment.

"Nevertheless, if you never met, Ms. Potter," Narcissa interrupted curiously. "how is it possible that Harry's eyes seem familiar?"  
It went without saying that witches and wizards, in most circumstances, thanks to their magical capacities, usually had the advantage of flawless memories at least until their late dottage. If Madam Snape felt the child's eyes were familiar, there was likely a good reason behind it. Perhaps, as Narcissa had occasionally wondered, Lily Evans Potter , who so little was really known about, might have had wizarding relations; it would have explained the witches unusually strong talents - talents that one would not have expected to find in a low born muggle.

"It is puzzling. To the best of my memory, I can not recall having met Miss Evans, or any of Severus's other friends, but the child's eyes; They look so familiar. His cheek bones, eyebrows, even his ears and chin... they look so fam... so much like." After a painful broken breath, she trailed off looking into the distance.

"Mother?" Severus, asked softly, recognizing immediately that she had come upon her answer.

"Your brother's. Severus, your son's eyes look almost exactly like your brother's eyes but for the shade - down to his lashes, cheek bones, and brows. It is as clear as if your brother had used a spell to change his eye color."

Severus exchanged a distressed glance with Narcissa before turning back to his mother.

"I...Mother, I don't know what they convinced you of in that pathetic excuse for a sanitarium, but... I..." Severus stumbled to a halt, only to realize that he had been pacing as he spoke. On being told of his mother's survival in the sanitarium, Severus had not even stopped to consider that his mother might not be in her right mind. But a brother? Had she dreamed up a brother to ease her loss and regret for the son that she had believed lost? Or, worse yet, had Voldemort tampered with her mind, perhaps making her believe that he, too, had been her son? But, what gain would there have been in that? Without realizing it, he began pacing again.

"Madam Snape," Narcissa continued gently, when it was clear that Severus was too affected to proceed "I was under the impression that Severus was an only child?"

"No, no... there was a brother. Severus had a brother, Tobias, born six years before him." Eileen began.

"Mother... I," Severus interrupted ignoring Narcissa's abortive gesture.

"Severus, your father was never a kind or gentle man." Eileen's comment came from out of the blue, making no sense until she continued, "but in our early years, he was not the man you knew, either. At least not at first. When I first revealed that I had magic, he didn't approve, but he did not hate me for it either."

Severus raised a disbelieving eyebrow, quietly debating her comment; the man that he had known, hated magic in any shape and form, and had hated him for possessing it. His mother's sad smile confirmed that she understood his doubt, but she held to her statement, explaining: "At least not until it failed him."

"Magic failed him? ... How?" Severus asked barely suppressing the sarcasm in his tone. Tobias Snape had been an avaricious man, and Severus had no doubt that this supposed failure on Magic's part had been related to some get rich quick scheme that his father had wanted the upper hand in.

Narcissa, however, had been quicker to tie the traces of their conversation together, and asked gently "Severus's brother?"

"Yes. Tobias only began to hate magic... and me ... after... after I couldn't save Little Tobias." Steeling herself, Eileen turned to face Severus directly - anticipating how he would take the news she was about to deliver. "Tobias was never a kind man. Never a gentle man. Never a good father, but he was happier, for a bit, when your brother, Tobias, was born... particularly when we realized that Tobias was a squib. He didn't stop drinking, but for a while he wasn't ... as rough, and he took on a few odd jobs every once in a while. Things still weren't perfect between us, though, and we sometimes argued. Still, I don't think he meant to hit me in front of Tobias. He never had until that night, he had never touched Tobias, before then, either. But, he was such a big man and so strong... and Tobias so little ... only five. when Little Tobias tried to protect me, I honestly don't think that your father had any idea how hard he was hitting him. He was terrified When he realized ... when he saw... And I tried, but the healing spells that I knew of... they didn't work. "

"Father killed him, didn't he? He would have been too afraid of the police to let you take him to a hospital, so ... what ... you just let him die?" Severus's voice rose in pitch as he stared at his mother, aghast. His mother had always seemed a victim to him, but to find out that she was complicit in allowing a child, her own child to die, when she had a wand and the ability stun her husband and get her child help... and yet had refused to: the knowledge was somehow more devastating to him than her inability or refusal to protect him in his youth had been. Unable to gather his composure, Severus turned on his heels and stalked out leaving Narcissa and Eileen staring sympathetically after him.

The silence stretched long and uncomfortably between them, before Eileen finally turned and asked the question that Narcissa had begun to anticipate: "If Lily was the child's mother... they were so close, and the child truly does look like Tobias? Is Severus absolutely certain that..."

"I don't know the full circumstances, but I do know how we can find out." Narcissa sighed and lead Eileen to her potions lab, where she had a small sample of Harry's blood set aside to taylor the dreamless sleep potions she had been making for him.


	36. Chapter 36

Tiniest Wish: A verbis ad verbera, Part 36

Tiniest Wish: A verbis ad verbera, Part 36

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Drastic changes in the Slytherin house. Italics – flashback.

_Unable to gather his composure, Severus turned on his heels and stalked out leaving Narcissa and Eileen staring sympathetically after him._

_The silence stretched long and uncomfortably between them, before Eileen finally turned and asked the question that Narcissa had begun to anticipate: "If Lily was the child's mother... they were so close, and the child truly does look like Tobias? Is Severus absolutely certain that..."_

_"I don't know the full circumstances, but I do know how we can find out." Narcissa sighed and lead Eileen to her potions lab, where she had a small sample of Harry's blood set aside to tailor the dreamless sleep potions she had been making for him._

Tiniest Wish, Part 36

Narcissa and Eileen stared at the parchment with avid curiosity as the blood lineage spell directed the lineage potion across the parchment's surface. To their surprise, the blood connection that they had expected to appear between Harry and Severus – through the drop of Eileen's blood added to the lineage potion - did not immediately appear as it would have if their supposition had been correct.

No, Harry was truly the natural son of James Harold and Lily Evan's Potter.

The fact, alone, that the lineage potion was rapidly scrolling across the page indicated that their was a blood relation of some sort between them, so the two witches watched on as the gilded potion sketched out the names of Lily Potter Nee Evans with thin dark line connecting her name to that of James Potter (noting that he was only the father, but not in the direct blood line that the potion was detailing).

A side gilded branch appeared for Petunia Dursley nee Evans (with no connecting line for her muggle husband). Their gilded branches joined at the circle of their mother's name, Lilian Evans nee Tully, thickening as it worked backward through two generations of Tully men (both squibs by the dimness of their guilded lines) backward to Lilian Evan's (nee Tully) great, great grandfather, where it joined a very bright, ornately guilded, and quite unexpected branch through infamous Morfael Gaunt… a wizard who had become renowned as a blood traitor for publicly claiming that his family line was tainted with insanity and renouncing his rights of royal succession and those of his children upon his marriage- essentially ending the Gaunt Monarchy. Morfael Gaunt's name glowed brightly for the briefest second before it began to sketch a thinning line downward through his son, who had angrily broken ties with his father on coming of age – due to his father's rescission of the family's royal status – and taken Prince as his surname. Four generations later, the potion drew Eileen's name in gilded letters then faded from sight.

"I should have realized that you would have jumped to the worst possible conclusion." Severus's scathing voice chastised them from the door way. "But, if you had possessed tact to ask, since you seem absent the grace to leave an unnecessary inquisition be, I would have assured you that your salacious suspicions were groundless. Lily Potter was, above all, a witch of greatest honor and integrity. While I never understood her choice of Potter, there was never the slightest possibility in my mind that she would have strayed from that choice in any manner. Even if you have reason to assume the lowest of me, she was not capable of such a betrayal, and your pondering the possibility does her a great injustice."

There was an icy anger in his tone that startled both women, both of who, had only seen the surprisingly gentler side of nature in their recent interactions to the point that the stiffness in his posture and the tightness of his expression looked almost alien on him.

"Severus…" Eileen began, but immediately stopped when his eyes flared with barely checked anger and a soft whisper of magic carried throughout the room lightly shifting Narcissa's cauldrons and vials in their holders.

A thin, stinging cut, slashed across the back of his hand, drawing his attention to Narcissa, who was glaring coldly at him.

"You are not a twelve year old child, Severus, and I am most certainly not in the mood to tolerate such an impolitic display. Given what little we knew about your relationship with Harry's mother, our suspicions were easily within the realm of possibility… particularly when you have developed such an unexpectedly close relationship with him, over the past year and a half. Additionally, what you call tact, others might consider equally tactless. Were you really, expecting either of us to directly ask if you and Mrs. Potter conducted an adulterous affair? The suggestion is ridiculous. Now, if you would take a moment to simply notice that the parchment is far from blank, you might very well realize that your mother's suggestion of a family tie had more basis in it than we realized, even if it is not directly through you."

Stiffly nodding his acceptance of her rebuke, though it did nothing to lighten his expression, Severus reached out and lightly tugged the parchment from her grasp- despite knowing that it was another childish sign of his irritation. Still, she seemed marginally mollified by the fact that he was at least studying the results of her spell, and let him read the parchment without further rebuke. A moment later, however, he felt as if she might as well have cast a confringo spell directly into his chest – when he realized, with horror, what he was seeing. Morfael Gaunt, Marvolo's Gaunt's grandfather… Thomas Marvolo Riddle's great, great grandfather.

Harry was indirectly, though by wizarding standards, closely, related to the Dark Lord. In point of fact, if he was counting the degrees of kinship correctly, Voldemort had an equal, if not slightly greater claim…

"Incendio," he snarled, gripping the edge of the parchment tightly even as it turned to ash in his hand before steeling himself to do what he knew must be done. Nevertheless, as he turned on his mother and Narcissa, drawing his wand, Severus was momentarily overwhelmed by self-disgust.


	37. Chapter 37

Tiniest Wish: Alea Iacta Est, Part 37

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: An accidental revelation creates tension between the Severus and Narcissa. Italics – flashback.

_A moment later, however, he felt as if Narcissa might as well have cast a confringo spell directly into his chest – when he realized, with horror, what he was seeing. Morfael Gaunt, Marvolo's Gaunt's grandfather… Thomas Marvolo Riddle's great, great grandfather._

_Harry was indirectly, though by wizarding standards, closely, related to the Dark Lord. In point of fact, if he was counting the degrees of kinship correctly, Voldemort had an equal, if not slightly greater claim…_

"_Incendio," he snarled, gripping the edge of the parchment tightly even as it turned to ash in his hand before steeling himself to do what he knew must be done. Nevertheless, as he turned on his mother and Narcissa, drawing his wand, Severus was momentarily overwhelmed by self-disgust._

**Tiniest Wish, Part 37**

Wiping away the blood that was blurring his vision from Narcissa's well aimed cutting curse, Severus drew a pained breath and pushed himself back onto his feet. He was quite certain that her blasting curse had broken at least two ribs and moved carefully to avoid puncturing a lung, but otherwise ignored the intense pain in his side as he grasped his wand tighter and turned to locate his opponent.

"Narcissa, I have no desire or intention to cause you harm or injury, but I can not allow you to leave this room with the knowledge you possess."

Carefully stepping over his mother, whom he had petrified before turning his wand on Narcissa with the intent of obliviating her, Severus scanned the room carefully searching for any trace of a disillusionment spell, knowing that she could not have broken through the locking ward he had placed on the room seconds after disposing of the damning parchment.

For the first time in many years, the rhythmic bubbling and steaming of brewing potions was not a calmative but an annoyance, distracting him from his search for the cunning witch as he carefully walked between the well appointed lab tables, absently noting the varieties of potions that she was working on.

A whisper of sound to his right spun Severus's gaze to a disillusioned chair losing it's charm, just as something pulverized beneath his heel. Glancing down, he recognized the sparkling shards of a potion vial glinting from the floor and wisps of a vaporized potion swirling around his legs in a loose cone that was rising toward his face. Shutting his lips tightly against the fumes that he could already faintly scent, Severus grimaced in frustration.

Vaporized Veritaserum... and by the taste, a very potent solution.

Fighting the surge of light headed, confused, disorientation that was over taking him, Severus was two distracted to defend his wand when he felt Narcissa's silent expelliarmus drag his wand out of his room and throw it across the room. Catching it lightly in her extended hand, Narcissa quickly applied a sticking spell, locking it to the counter in front of her, and countered her disillusionment spell.

"Severus, why did you think I would permit you to tamper with my memory?" She asked approaching him almost idly as he fought the sway of the solution.

"I..." he bit his teeth together forcefully and fought the brew's influences, but the response still slipped from his lips. "... di-d no-t think for a second that you would permit it. I would not have attacked you if I had."

"So, you do acknowledge that you attacked me, and I certainly had the right to defend myself?"

"Yes!" The admission came laced with a heavy tone of self-derision that cause her eyebrow to raise, but she set his obvious distaste aside and continued.

"Why would you risk confronting me in such a reckless manner, Severus? Risk incurring Lucius's wrath, when you know that his pride would not allow him to accept any excuse as a reasonable justification for threatening his me?"

"Harry." The potion's hold abated enough that he did not feel immediately compelled to fully explain, but he knew that she would follow up with a second more probing question that he would not be able to avoid as easily. Recognizing that he would not have the strength to both wandlessly break the sticking charm and summon his wand, Severus waited until she glanced at him coldly and through the entire strength of his mind and core behind a single wandless spell: "_legillimens_".

He had not attempted such an action previously because he was well aware that she had no small talent in occlumency and that to do so would without doubt initiate a mental battle that neither of them could walk away from unscathed. There was no choice, now, however: he could not allow her to keep the memory of the bloodline that she had seen, nor further drag its meaning from him.

As he had expected, on entering her mind, Severus was entangled in fierce defenses, symbolized writhing waves of sharply thorned rose vines that blocked the entrance to an ancient marble castle that might have been straight from the myth of Sleeping Beauty. As they wrapped around him, her voice cut across their shared mindscape as a draconic roar.

"You are a fool, Severus."

Shearing through the thick living vines that wrapped around him like a devil's snare, Severus marveled at the strength and tenacity of her mind, startled by how deeply he had underestimated her. As he fought his way forward, a shadow cut across his path darkening the ground ahead of him as it swept forward and landed in front of him as a crystalline dragon. Every scale of the dragon reflected frosted images back at him that he could barely make out, but that transfixed his gaze... Images of Lily during her school years, laughing tucking the small moonflower plant that he had given her into her hair, over her ear, as he watched barely aware that his stolen attention had allowed the rose vine to entangle him again, the dragon transformed into the mental image of a haughty ice queen reflective of Narcissa's own image, but embued with a sense of infinite power.

The emphasis she was placing in the illusion was not lost on Severus as he once again fought to move forward, mentally cursing himself for allowing himself to become distracted again.

"Severus, I had respected you for having a greater intelligence than this." The ice queen sighed. "Why are you so frightened of Harry's bloodline getting out? He could use the fact that his is a decendant of the Gaunts and Salazar Slytherin, much to his advantage."

"Voldemort could use it against Harry." Severus ground out unwillingly.

"How?"

"Noo--," Severus gasped for breath as the vines tightened and the potion burned though his mind. "No...blood ... No...heh... relation-- I ... will not... be- tray Harry."

"I had forgotten. The 'dark' lord had claimed to be a descendant Slytherin. I had put little stock in it, but ... I take it, he is a Gaunt?"

"will... not...Yesssss." Severus hissed angrily, glaring at the ice queen with an blaze of something near hatred for pulling the truth out of him.

"And you are obviously willing to sacrifice everything for your son. Even yourself?"

"Yes!" Severus roared, willingly, using it to rally his strength and focus his thoughts into a tight fiendfyre that swirled around him burning the vines to ash as he charged toward her.

The ice queen transformed within their minds into the crystaline dragon, once more, ready to meet his challenge, but as she did, her roar questioned, "And Draco? Would you sacrifice Draco for Harry? Would you sacrifice my son for yours?"

The question froze him midstride, extinguishing his anger as soundly as water to flame, and his understanding of her mindscape became instantly clear. She was not the princess in the castle tower, protected by fierce defenders, but the dragon, the ice queen, keeping a young boy safe from the world, pampered and protected. A child that she was equally willing to risk all for, sacrifice all for. His godson. Staring deeply into the castle that he had at first thought to be opaque - marble, Severus was startled to find that she was allowing him to see through the crystal barriers, into its heart... into the courtyard where a young blond prince played, attended by a smaller, thinner, raven haired companion, and he knew with certainty how deeply this battle could rage. But the truth bubbled from his lips as he watched the children together, for better or worse: "No."

As much as he loved his son, and had loved the child's mother before the child, he would not, could not willingly sacrifice his godson: a child he had grown to care for... and love... as deeply as his own son. If it were not for Draco,the child who had slythered his way into Severus's heart as a toddler, Severus was not certain that he would have been able to open his heart to Harry.

"No. I would die first." He swore to her, knowing it was the truth... and the only truth she would accept.

"As I thought." The dragon transformed once more, revealing Narcissa herself. "Severus, be very thankful that I understand and respect your motivations, for if I had not, it would have been basilisk venom roiling through your veins instead of veritaserum. I will not allow you to tamper with my mind, as you must undoubtedly realize by now; but, I can also easily understand why you need greater assurances. So, I propose a fidelus charm, including you, your mother, myself, Nymphadora, of course, and Draco, with Harry as the secret keeper."

"Draco? Absolutely not. That would only put him in greater danger."

Narcissa smiled more coldly than she had as the ice queen when she answered, "Draco's friendship with Harry will put him in far greater danger than this single secret, but more to the point, the children are inseperable and it is inevitable that when you will not be able to be ever-present to protect Harry and Draco. They will both fare better if Draco fully understands the implications of whatever situation that may arise."

He gazed angrily at her, but could not deny the truth of her comments.

"Very well."

"Good. Now that we have come to a compromise, Leave My Mind!" Narcissa's voice came to him once again as a draconic roar that forced him back, dragging him through a seemingly endless valley of thorned rose vines, to a dark and desolate maze of black crystal that mirrored thousands of indistinguishable passages, and further backward through an expansive abyss that suddenly blinked into the image of Narcissa leaning over him.

When she saw that he was fully back into his own mind, she rocked him with a stinging slap, slashed her wand to counter that petrificus and locking spells, and slowly walked toward the door. Just inside the door, however, she stopped and stared back at him with a disconcerting gaze.

"I usually do not offer warnings, Severus, but I feel it's justified in this instance. Where you and Lucius have been otherwise occupied in your daily occupations, I have had fifteen years of idle time to perfect the arts that I excelled in, with few other responsibilities and a driving purpose. You truly have no concept of what I can be capable of."

With her final words ringing in the air, Narcissa cast a heavy glamour over herself to hide her pallor and dishevelment and left the room, leaving Severus alone with his mother, who was now staring at him mystified and angered by his assault.


	38. Chapter 38

**Tiniest Wish: Ab imo Pectore, Part 38**

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Millicent and Harry, Severus and Narcissa. Some unexpected developments. _Italics_ = Flashbacks. (For those who have had a difficult time keeping track of time, this is still during the Christmas break of Harry's second year – after Harry's come out of his coma and Sev and Tonks were married. )

* * *

_"Good. Now that we have come to a compromise, Leave . My . Mind!" Narcissa's voice came to him_

_once again as a draconic roar that forced him back, dragging him through a seemingly endless_

_valley of thorned rose vines, to a dark and desolate maze of black crystal that mirrored thousands_

_of indistinguishable passages, and further backward through an expansive abyss that suddenly_

_blinked into the image of Narcissa leaning over him._

_.  
_

_When she saw that he was fully back into his own mind, she rocked him with a stinging slap,_

_slashed her wand to counter the petrificus and the locking spells, and slowly walked toward the door._

_Just inside the door, however, she stopped and stared back at him with a disconcerting gaze._

_"I usually do not offer warnings, Severus, but I feel it's justified in this instance._

_Where you and Lucius have been otherwise preoccupied in your daily pursuits, I have had fifteen years_

_of idle time to perfect the arts that I excelled in, with few other responsibilities and a driving purpose._

_You truly have no concept of what I can be capable of."_

_

* * *

  
_

**The Tiniest Wish, Part 38**

Millicent scanned the room impatiently as she and her mother moved forward through the receiving line. Unlike her mother, who was searching for the tiniest flaw in Lady Malfoy's Christmas décor – to critique and gossip about for weeks to come, Millicent scanned the room anxiously searching for her suite mates.

Her mother rattled on as she searched, superficially asking for her opinion, but hardly listening for it and completely ignoring Millicent's disappointed sigh when she spotted Draco standing by his mother at the head of the receiving line. It was polite, of course, but certainly not expected that Draco stand at his mother's side to greet their guests. After a moment, however, she realized that Lord Malfoy had apparently not returned from whatever task had required his abrupt departure from Professor Snape's wedding ceremony… so it was only natural that Draco would be asked to stand in for his father.

That fact was hardly appeasing to Millicent; however, because without Draco to draw him out, Harry would probably be off in a corner pretending to admire the eighteenth century scenery while he held himself as still and unnoticeable as possible. Thanks to his disgusting relatives, Harry was very talented in making himself nearly unnoticeable without even the use of a notice me not spell, despite his social popularity. That skill, particularly tonight, frustrated her to distraction. While she was pleased to have already seen her dorm mate Lukins passing through the reception line moments earlier, and to have spotted Vincent Crabbe and Geoffrey Goyle sizing up the hors d'oeuvre table from a discreet distance, it was Harry that she truly wished to see.

Before scanning the room again, Millicent spared an amused second glance at her friends, who were clearly planning their attack strategy on the buffet table. They had apparently had forgotten Lady Malfoy's warning the previous Christmas when they had made a bit of a ridiculous scene after someone had placed a light sticking charm on their deserts plates (Millicent suspected that it had been Lady Malfoy, though she wouldn't put it past Draco), before turning back to search for Harry again.

Harry's parents, Professor Snape and Auror Snape, … and wasn't that an odd thought… were speaking with an older witch and the Headmaster near one of the larger chiming fairy trees. Not that it was odd thinking about Professor Snape as Harry's father; their head of house had taken a paternal role with Harry from the first day he showed up at Hogwarts so skinny, malnourished, and mistreated that it was a wonder he'd had the ability to climb up on the sorting stool.

No, what was odd to think about was Mrs. Nymphadora Tonks-Snape, an auror, and most obviously, a former (if one could ever be only a former) Gryffindor. The logistics of the match, between her very Slytherin head of house and the obvious Gryffindor witch, well, made a socially- acceptable sense to Millicent, in a cursory sort of way. Given both Professor Snape's and Auror Tonks-Snape's backgrounds, finding a proper social match would have been a bit unlikely, but the personal side of it was what confused Millicent. The former Ms. Tonks was so… so … thoroughly Gryffindorish and Professor Snape and Harry were definitely Slytherin; although Harry seemed to have a bit of hufflepuff in him at times, too. She just didn't see how the witch's loud personality were going to mesh with her quiet friend and his stern adoptive father.

Setting the thought aside when Harry still didn't show after several seconds, Millicent briefly noticed that while Professor Snape was clearly engaged in the conversation he was having with the headmaster and his wife, his eyes were subtly locked on Draco's mother as she laughed quietly at something that Madam Longbottom was saying. After a moment of curiosity, she glanced away and nodded to her mother, who was urging her forward with a pinched grip on her elbow.

"Mother," she hissed softly, "my cuffs are too thin to hide the bruises you're going to give me if you don't loosen your grip."

Her mother's hand jerked away, but not without scraping her claws across the tender skin on the inside of Millicent's arm, where it wasn't likely to be seen.

"Then it would be wise of you to remember the deportment and etiquette classes that your father has paid so much for. He will be very unhappy to hear that you are slouching around instead of putting your best foot forward. We have already explained over and over how important your carriage at every public outing will be… at least until we secure you…."

"Cynthia, Millicent. It is such a pleasure to see you." Lady Malfoy's seemingly warm greeting caught Millicent by surprise. She had somehow lost track of how close they were approaching the head of the receiving line."

"Mrs. Bulstrode, Miss. Bulstrode." Draco's formal but pleasant welcome followed a moment later.

"Thank you for inviting us, Lady Malfoy." Millicent answered with a light blush of embarrassment as she realized that their hostess had probably heard her mother's unpleasant lecture.

"Oh, Narcissa," her mother minced in a syrupy tone, "you put on the quaintest affairs, though I would have thought that you might have splurged a bit to do something original. This is so traditional. You see it every year. Still, I suppose, it is a safe theme to work with when you can not work up the imagination."

"Oh, yes, I suppose it is a bit more traditional than the affairs that I usually put on, but Madam Snape offered several suggestions that I thought were inspired, but which would not have integrated well into any other theme."

"How generous of you." Millicent broke in before her mother could throw in any other rude aspersions.

"Last year, Harry remarked how much he enjoyed attending your Christmas party. If I remember correctly, it was the first he'd ever attended, so I doubt he's ever been to a traditional Christmas festival. He'll be thrilled. …Oh, that reminds me, Professor Lockhart was positively thrilled that you asked him to be a guest speaker at your boxing day charity luncheon. He spoke of almost nothing else when he visited with mother and father, Friday. He referred frequently to your great kindness, hospitality, and wisdom…" Millicent caught her breath as her mother's nails dug sharply into the back of her hand, which her mother had caught up a moment earlier in a seemingly familial gesture.

"He commented on my wisdom?" Narcissa asked in a falsely flattered tone, meeting Millicent's eyes, though Millicent was certain that she had noticed her mother's clawing grip.

"Oh. What a sweet compliment," Millicent's mother supplied, before commenting snidely, "Though some wizards are so easily impressed."

"Oh, yes. He referred often, during the discussion, to your sensible advice and high standards. He was very impressed with your stand on civility and old world courtesy. In fact, he said that he'd been persuaded, himself, after speaking with you regarding the regrettable lack of old world courtesy and morals, that courtesy required him to at least explain why he was withdrawing from our betrothal." Millicent swallowed a pained sigh as her mother's nails continued to dig into the tendons on the back of her hand.

""Oh, My Dear, I had no idea that he would take my words in that direction… or how he could even doing such a thing as that when I was lauding him for his sensibility in pursuing your courtship so traditionally. It never occurred to me that he would. Oh, my Dear, how devastating." Narcissa barely suppressed a smirk at the child's machinations even as she injected a suitable amount of seeming distress into her tone.

For her part, young Miss Bulstrode, who was clearly not as dense nor as heavy-handed as Narcissa had assumed from her mother's boorish example, schooled her face into an appropriately saddened expression, though not so much that Narcissa couldn't read the relief and pleasure sparkling in her gaze. Yes, Narcissa thought, she had misjudged the young witch. The child seemed a bit more clever and nuanced than Narcissa had previously given her credit for.

By stopping the receiving line, to make her thinly-veiled announcement, the child had guaranteed that her news would be quickly picked up by a multitude of society gossips, who were already in the process of casting poorly camouflaged eavesdropping charms. Even Severus had noticed the pause, though he had seemed moderately engaged in his conversation her niece, his mother, and Headmaster Dumbledore, when she last glanced at him.

"Oh, no, Lady Malfoy," the child quickly responded in a seemingly disconcerted tone. "You misunderstand. I deeply appreciate your influence over the professor."

At the child's words, Narcissa began to wonder whether the child truly guessed what the extent of her influence had been. From Miss Bulstrode's careful phrasing, Narcissa suspected that she had at the very least guessed that Narcissa had, with a few well-chosen phrases and hollow promises, quite neatly caused the buffoonish-simpering professor to reconsider his betrothal. She had not mentioned her intention to Severus, of course.

Her husband's friend, and now a relation by marriage, was notoriously, and laudably, protective of his students, and thrice over as protective for his son and Draco. As a result, it was incredibly unlikely that he would be prone to see the sensibility of Narcissa's decision to free the young witch of her quite ridiculous betrothal contract with the foppish, self-pandering professor, in order to be installed as a place holder for Harry. He was instead, more likely to be inclined to criticize her interference and suggest that both Harry and Miss Bulstrode were far too young for such a commitment. Narcissa, however, had no intention of allowing unwanted influences to creep into Draco's, or Harry's, environment, and it was not uncommon - particularly in Slytherin association for grasping and ill-intentioned families to persuade their daughters into an untoward association for the sole purpose of gaining influence in the boys lives. Narcissa herself had been subject to her parents desire to elevate their social standing, but had been marginally fortunate to have been pushed on Lucius Malfoy instead of Rudolphus Lestrange, as her sister had.

By contrast, Narcissa felt that engineering even a temporary arrangement between the children would be at least harmless, as she had no doubt of her ability to control Cynthia Bulstrode's machinations for her daughter, and the child's father was too witless to be a match for either Severus or Lucius. Not only that, but the witch seemed to be marginally fond of Harry and had even been tolerable company at Harry's birthday celebration.

"…If he had not been persuaded by your comments and had simply withdrawn from the betrothal contract without an explanation, and I would have been left to wonder what I had done to offend him, or…"

When young Miss Bulstrode trailed off, Narcissa turned back from surreptitiously watching Lenore Hempstead, notorious for her poorly cast listening spells, attempting to edge her way close enough to overhear their conversation. Perfect. While Lenore could not cast a decent eavesdropping spell to save her life or reputation, she was a quite talented social columnist, far above the standard of the only slightly more popular trash writer, Rita Skeeter. Better yet, while it was never directly mentioned, Lenore quite owed Narcissa several favors for unexpected invitations to events that she would not have had any other hopes of attending… and she knew it.

Raising her voice just a shade to draw the columnist even closer, Narcissa asked, "What is it child?" in an encouraging tone and quickly repressed a smirk when she noticed a glimmer in the child's eyes as Miss Hempstead edged into the child's view.

"Oh… it's nothing really, only that before he explained his decision, I had worried that he might have found me… lacking… on closer acquaintance."

Narcissa shifted her expression to one of at least superficial sympathy and reached out to catch the young witch's hand, gracefully extracting it from her mother's clawing grip, and murmured, "Dear, Dear..." as she waited for Hempstead to edge closer. Despite the witch's absolute inability to cast a decent eavesdropping spell, Hempstead was wondefully skilled in subtly swaying her readers into accepting the most scandelous conclusions as simple fact, and had been quite useful to Narcissa in the past. When she deemed that the columnist had edged close enough she finally continued.

"Surely not. I am quite certain that could not be the case. With the immense responsibilities he told me of, I can hardly credit that he would have had much time at all to spend with you, much less to tire of your company."

"Really, the professor has been very generous with his time – even offering private tutoring on the weekends." the younger witch demurred, though her eyes flickered to Hempstead then back to Narcissa with only a very, very superficial expression of worry that took Narcissa by surprise with the realization that Millicent clearly recognized what she was doing. That was unexpected.

Pansy Parkinson, whom Narcissa had chosen for Draco on the basis of her native cunning and intellect had nevertheless, frequently missed noting such details, not that Narcissa intended to share all of her manipulations with Miss Parkinson until the witch was permanently bonded - health, wealth, and magic to her son. Parkinson had, at times, seemed a little too cunning for Narcissa, not to suspect that Lady Parkinson, an inveterate schemer, was guiding her daughter's actions. The reverse seemed to be true with Bulstrode, who was quite handily playing Lockhart's conceits against him in a rather cunning direction, if the child was actually intending what she expected, and Narcissa was becoming quite curious to watch and see whether the child had the nerves and intelligence to carry it off.

"Pivate tutoring? On the weekends?" Narcissa asked in a shocked tone, suspecting that she knew exactly the direction the you witch was going, and allowing Millicent to play out her little scheme.

She did so partly out of curiosity, wondering how she had misjudged the young witch's potential early on, and partly because the child's manipulations played well into her own plans. Her brief interview with Lockhart had proven the wizard an oaf and a fraud. Why the headmaster would have ever considered a fop like Lockhart for such position and important subject mystified her completely. Still, it was not unknown for men of power - even heroes - to hesitate in training their replacements.

Dismissing the thought for later consideration, Narcissa turned her attention back to Miss Bulstrode, who was in the midst of an awkwardly worded but adequate insinuation: "Lady Malfoy, I do hope you know that I would never take advantage of his generosity. My mother has always advised me to avoid even the slightest appearance of impropriety, and taking private lessons in my betrothed's quarters, could only lead to the most horrible accusations of favoritism. I would never jeopardize his reputation with such a claim."

"Oh, I am sure not." Narcissa barely suppressed a smirk at that - the priceless irony of Miss Bulstrode's comments, which denied a far lighter offense - while suggesting a far more serious offense - in an artless and guileless manner.

"Have others _imposed_ themselves on him? For _private tutoring_ in _his quarters?_"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am." Millicent met Narcissa's gaze with eyes that sparkled in amusement - clearly recognizing Narcissa's cooperation. "Several of the Ravenclaw students have commented on how difficult it is to schedule OWL and NEWT reviews because so many third and fourth year witches signed up for private appointments."

"Yes, I can see how that would be a concern." Narcissa answered slightly louder voice as she sent an intentionally dark glance at Lenore Hempstead, who was practically salivating at the news.

"Yes, Ma'am. but he was very clear that he was not in anyway offended by my refusal... that it wasn't my fault in any way - merely a matter of my age."

"Your age? But, surely, he was aware of your age from the outset."

"Yes, Lady Malfoy, but he said that it only recently occurred to him that it would be unfair to me as a witch only in her second year, with my age and in-experience working against me, to be saddled with a bachelor 'fully and vigorously' in his prime of life."

"How considerate of him," Narcissa commented dryly.

As if suddenly realizing how long they had been standing idle, Millicent lifted her hand to her cheek and murmured with false surprise, "Lady Malfoy, I am so sorry. I did not mean to monoolize your time when your time when you still have guests to greet."

"Dear, no." Narcissa denied with emphasis, pleased with Miss Bulstrode's affectation. Perhaps, the girl was a better choice for Harry than she earlier realized.

"I will not hear a word of that, Millicent, a majority of our guests are well-arrived, and those who've chosen to come late have no cause to mind if you have held me a moment or two longer, when we have seen each other so rarely."

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy." Millicent curtsied deeply when Narcissa released her hand and stepped aside to wait as her mother made the pretence of a pleasant greeting.

Turning to search for Harry again, she was barely paying attention her mother's rambling spate as she pulled Millicent along by her arm.

"Millicent, My Darling Child, you were brilliant." Her mother enthused, "Co-opting Narcissa's very own party to announce that you are free from your previous bethrothal without stain - is quite simply the social coup of the season, and there can be no better event to do it at either. Both Lucius and Narcissa are such horrible social climbers inviting anyone they think might be a stepping stone on their way up that there are bound to be simply gads of lucrative contacts that your father would simply die to get his hands on.

It is almost a shame that he has too much self-respect to pander and stoop the way Lucius does; we might have been in a much better circumstance if he had lowered himelf to trivialities. Oh well, there's no need to wish for knuts when you can wish for galleons. Now, we simply must find you a slew of prospective suitors. At least, with the Malfoys being such pathetic elitists, we won't have to worry that their guests won't have the proper backgrounds. Anyone here will suit...Oh, Merlin's beard, already a suitable prospect.

A suitable prospect indeed. What a coup that would be. Narcissa's bound to swallow her own tongue in envy, and with no daughter of her own, she hasn't a hope of stealing him out from under me." Millicent's mother rambled as she pulled Millicent through and around other guests, who were milling amiably and enjoying the delicacies being offered from sparkling, snowflake-shaped dishes that descended from the ceiling in tiny drifting arcs.

When her mother finally stopped dragging Millicent, they were standing just behind a life-sized crystaline sculpture of an Angel's trumpet who's delicate flowers had been charmed to sparkle with fairy lights just before releasing a soft ringing chime that joined others nearby in playing soft lilting Christmas melodies that echoed throughout the Manor.

"There. Right there." her mother whispered urgently as she shook Millicent's arm to get her attention. "Look over there, at the wizard speaking to Minister Fudge's assistant. There, you see him? Emory Crouch."

Millicent followed her mother's gaze and nearly gasped when she recognized the wizard that her mother was indescretely pointing out - a wizard with a impatient, almost bitter expression, who was already greying at his temples. He was dressed in an extremely conservative set of wizarding robes that would have been appropriate to Lady Malfoy's old world theme, if she had announced that it was a costume event.

Although ... her mother was probably correct that Millicent's father would likely salivate at the very thought of elder Crouch brother courting her. If possible, it was an even worse choice thatn Professor Lockhart. It wasn't even just that he was possibly even just that he was so much older than her either; although, she certainly wasn't happy that her mother seemed to have no qualms whatsoever pairing her with a wizard at least sixty years her senior. If she remembered correctly, he was at least a decade older than his younger brother, Bartimous Crouch, who already had an adult son in azkaban the year Millicent was born, but that wasn't what bothered her the most.

"Mother, he's bonded with Mr. Jorgenson."

"Yes, yes, but he is still the family paternalia and must produce an heir. With Barty's son convicted, and Barty's wife ill, he can't even legitimately assinn his inheritance to Barty. If he doesn't want to give up the famiy seat on the wizengamot, he'll have to produce an heir soon, and he's no doubt feeling the pressure to do so... and as you say, he's already bonded to that flake Jorgenson, so he'll not be holding out for a particularly pretty or clever wife. He'll not be too picky about the dowry, either, or require the showy wedding that Lockhart had wanted. Really, having your wedding carriage pulled by unicorns, the man was too much. No, Emory won't want anything of the sort. Your father should be quite pleased."

To her disgust, Milicent couldn't argue with that. There was no question that her father would be thrilled to spend as little as possible on her or her wedding much less dowry. In fact, she was almost surprised that her father hadn't set her dowry at a mere knut and let her go "_to the first fool who'd take her_" as he'd threatened when she had first protested her father's acceptance of Lockhart's offer.

"Millicent, Mrs. Bulstrode..." Draco gently broke in. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but mother asked me to see if there is any possible way that we could impose on you for the tiniest favor."

Millicent flashed a grateful smirk at Draco, even as she cocked an eyebrow at the sympathetic, if embarrased, flush that swept across his face as he caught a brief glimpse of the greedy appraising glance that her mother barely suppressed. Draco occasionally seemed embarrassed at the thought that his mother's favors were considered so lucrative. Personally, Millicent thought that Draco had no idea how lucky he had it. She was almost convinced that she could have had a far less complicated home life if her parents had possessed a social standing on level with the Malfoys instead of always hungering after and resenting even the most minute display of power or influence. Still despite her parents poor example, Millicent couldn't find it in herself to be jealous or resentful of Draco - even if she knew that, had their circumstances been reversed, her parents would have probbly never forced her into that ridiculous betrothal with Lockhart.

"Oh, but of course," her mother simpered, "We're alwas happy to oblige Narcilla's little whims."

Wincing at her mother's barely disguised grasping, Millicent turned to Draco grateful smile, "What can we do, Draco?"

"Madam Bulstrode, an acquaintance of my mother's, Mrs. Lenore Hempstead is quite unescorted this evening, and mother worries that she is such a social person that she'll find no enjoyment of the evening without companionship. Would you terribly mind providing her a bit of company until mother can be freed up from the receiving line?"

"Oh, of course, we wouldn't mind." Her moher gushed, almost clapping in her excitement at being paired with the gossip columnist.

"Come along, Millicent." She ordered enthusiastically, catching her daughter's wrist to pull her along when Millicent hesitated.

"Actually, Madam Bullstrode, we were hoping that we could impose on Millicent to keep Harry company, as well, until I can be let off the receiving line?"

Millicent waited for her mother to respond, hoping that it would be with a somewhat harmless comment - suspecting, however, that she wouldn't be quite that lucky

Her suspicions were confirmed a second later when her mother smiled boldly and squeezed her hand:"Of course, she can. It would do her prospects good to be seen with such acquaintances. Do be sure to mix and mingle with the guests, Millicent, particularly Mr. Crouch. It's a perfect opportunity for an introduction; he can hardly refuse to speak with the 'Boy-who-lived' now could he... and make certain that you've introduced him to all of your father's friends and business associates. It never hurts to remind them that your father may have influential contacts."

"Yes, Mother." Millicent muttered softly, trying to contain her embarrassment and irritation.

With that, her mother turned, like a vulture sighting its next meal and rushed off into the crowd, calling, "Lenore... Lenore, Darling, is that you? How long has it been?"

"Thanks, Draco" she muttered, "For a few moments there, I thought that ... huh, nevermind." She trailed off, deciding that there was no purpose to be served by pairing his dissatisfaction out to her suitemate.

"Thought she'd have you chained off to old crouch over there even before midnight?" He asked trying to dispel the subject on a light note if possible, "yes, Mother suspected as much, and thought to buy you sometime. While your mother's busy with Lenore, I think she's planning to have a brief discussion with him regarding a few more suitable candidates for his attentions."

"Really?" Millicent asked, intrigued until another thought occured, "Draco, why is she doing that, and why did she spook Lockhart off?"

"Don't let her know that you haven't figured it out, yet. I think she was rather impressed with your performance."

"Spell it out for me, Naja." she commanded softly.

Smiling indulgently, Draco gestured with a nod of his head toward an exit into the garden and held his silence until they were far enough away from the party not to be overheard.

Instead of explaining why his mother had taken a personal iterest in her betrothal prospects, though, Draco smiled an inguriatingly enigmatic smile and chirped, "Pansy told me."

Pansy, that annoying little bint. She'd have to find a way to make Parkinson pay for that little confession when they got back to school. Sure Parkinson was betrothed to Draco, and Harry was Draco's best friend, but somethings should be kept ... or should have been kept just between girls.

"And you told your mother?" she asked tersely, staring at him irritably and wishing that she could read how he really felt about her.

"Course not, but she's been in the same spot as you, so I expect that it wouldn't take much thought for her see the possibility."

She wished she could tell precisely what he was thinking, but Draco's face was so cheerfully set that it couldn't be real. After waiting for her response, Draco finally rolled his eyes and swept his fingers down the path toward the stables with a small caution.

"Just don't let him think that it's only been about this... even if it has. "

Uncertain whether his comment implied his approval or not, Millicent decided not to push the issue and hurried down the path toward the thestral stables.


	39. Chapter 39

Tiniest Wish: Ab Hinc Ad Idem, Part 39

Rating: T -warning for language.

Summary: Some possibly unexpected developments. Italics = Flashbacks. (For those who have had a difficult time keeping track of time, this is still during the Christmas break of Harry's second year – after Harry's come out of his coma, and Sev and Tonks were married. Also, with regard to their private names for each other - Naja = Draco, Boomslang, Boom, or Boomer = Harry, Daboia = Millicent).

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_There was very little question of where the child would be; since his release from the infirmary wing Harry seemed to gravitate to the thestral pen at every possible opportunity. Though Lucuis only kept the grotesque winged creatures for show and bragging rights, he could easily understand the appeal to an angst-ridden boy. The malformed creatures seemed the perfect mix of ghoulish predator and gracefully docile pet to appeal to the darker emotions of a unsettled child, and true to his recent form, the boy was standing in the middle of the pen - naive of the creatures potential threat with his face pressed into the withered, scaly shoulder of a pensive mare and his hand half resting – half stroking its bristling whithers._

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**Ab Hinc Ad Idem, Part 39**

**"**My Darling..." Lucius greeted his wife as he let drop the glamour that he had been wearing for the past 28 minutes waiting until he reached the end of the receiving line.

"Lucius, Dearest. I hardly expected you to arrive so early." Narcissa answered cooly, presenting a cheek for him to kiss as the guests arriving behind him tittered lightly at his surprise**. "**I trust that you did not leave unfinished business, simply to suprise me- no matter how sweet the thought."

"No, Darling." Lucius barely suppressed a wince at her superficial pleasantery. Of course, he'd realized that Narcissa had been peeved with him, but had hoped that bringing the matter quickly to wraps and an appropriate gift would mollify her. "My meetings have been concluded as neatly as you'd please."

"I am pleased to hear that." She responded dryly, before drawing him to her side with a cool, impersonal grip on his hand. "I will, of course, wish to hear every detail when we've retired for the evening."

Lucius better hid his reaction the second time, barely wincing at that comment. Narcissa rarely attempted to oversee his actions, but on the very rare occasions that she did, when he had thoroughly displeased her by some action that even he (usually much later) agreed was poorly handled - she was nearly impossible to satisfy.

If he were a lesser man, he might have cringed at the thought of the upcoming -utterly polite and impersonal- interrogation, but he had never yet had cause regret pairing with her. True, when she as coldly furious as she had been on hearing of Harry's sympathetic connection with the Dark Lord's spirit in the diary, Lucius was mildly concerned that she might give head to her vengeful temper, but only mildly. He had, after all, insured that her interests and their son's interests were tied too closely to his own to permit his injury - purely out of self defense - instead of a desire to control her as their litigator and accountant had presumed. Narcissa - though usually quite willing to accede to his wishes and leave the day to day management of their affairs political and financial to him, while she smoothly orchestrated their social affairs - would not permit anyone to control her.

Not even the Dark Lord had been able to counter her cold, logical arguments against taking the Dark Mark, and had warned Lucius that it was not wise "to have a too clever wife", but Lucius had never been given cause to regret his choice. There were times when her calculated cunning and cutting eyes frightened even him, but he could never find it in himself to prefer grasping shrews like Madames Parkinson and Bulstrode... nor banshees like Molly Prewitt Weasley _(he thought with a shudder_).

No, Narcissa's sometimes unquenchable temper and implacable nature - were much more to his preference. Like a rapier, keen and sharp, she could slip through one's defenses to inflict fatal (or near-fatal) wounds (as she preferred) almost before the individual even discerned her intent, but being paired with her had kept him sharp as well, and he was certain that there had been numerous circumstances that he would likely not have prevailed in, much less survived, had it not been for her.

- - - -

Plucking a leaf from a stem that crossed her, Millicent paused and rolled it between her fingertips, crushing it and releasing its pungent oils. The fine peppery breath of fragrance it gave off was slightly bracing and helped to settle her nerves, so she plucked several more and slipped them into a small hidden pocket in the hem of her shawl to bolster her as she walked.

Despite all of her hopes that she could escape her parents' callous plans, she really wasn't certain that she was ready or truly wanted to take the step she was about to, but if she didn't - she didn't see any other way out. It wasn't that she didn't like Harry well enough to think that he would be a good match. She did. In fact, out of all of the boys of her year (as well as a year above and a year below), she was fondest of Harry and Draco, and would have been perfectly happy to be betrothed to either boy.

It wasn't a question of whether Harry's standing would be enough to guarrantee her parents' cooperation, either. He was the boy-who-lived. Like her mom said, there were few people with enough status, like Dumbledore, who could refuse him without politically and socially destroying themselves. On top of that, even though he had no confidence of the fact, she could easily tell that he possessed quite a bit of magical power as well. Their private tutoring sessions had shown her that: when Harry earnestly tried (and when didn't he), he could almost always pick up a spell by the fifth try - no matter how complicated, and still he seemed to have almost no confidence in his own ability. Unlike Draco... and that was the problem, really. As much and as close as the two boys were best mates, Harry was really nothing like Draco.

Draco, even though he was in the same year, seemed so much more sophisticated than Harry (and any of their other year mates, for that matter). Since the summer, when they had started writing to each other through the charmed parchments, Millicent had been made increasingly aware of how intelligent and cunning Draco was, and unlilke many of the other Slytherins, how relatively selfless he was.

Not that Draco was a bleeding hufflepuff or anything; he cared about his family and friends first, and the rest of the world could sod it for all he cared. Still... all of his plans and ambitions were built around securing the best outcome for his inner circle, instead of just himself. The plans they had come up with over the summer, to ensure that the stupid Gryff's left Harry alone, would have worked flawlessly; she was sure of it... if Harry hadn't mucked things up by getting himself caught into a 4 month long magical coma. But, that seemed to be the thing about Harry, if there was the slightest possibility of being weakened or injured, he would find a way to do it without even trying or desiring it. How Draco could put up with being around someone so injury prone, Millicent couldn't reckon because, as much as she liked Harry, there were times that she simply wanted to scream at Harry for making Draco worry so.

But, it wasn't her place. No, that spot belonged to Pansy Parkinson, Narcissa's chosen consort for her son, and Millicent was no fool. If she tried to usurp Pansy's place, it wouldn't be Pansy and her mother that she would be going against but Narcissa, herself. Unlike the other flittering bints in her year, who gossiped about Pansy in hopes of finding some weak point or other, Millicent did not need to be told that Juno, herself, stood a better chance of overturning Narcissa's will than Millicent, her yearmates, or any living witch for that matter. No, the best that she could hope for was the possibility of Draco and Harry maintaining close acquaintances so that she could keep at least a lingering friendship with Draco once their were out of school.

Sighing, Millicent smoothed her palms over her gown, letting the slight trace of peppery essence cling to the fabric. Maybe... maybe, she should just get on with it. Wishes and regrets were meaningless, and she didn't even know for certain that Harry would cooperate.

Her path ended some minutes later when she reached the stable and saw Harry immediately.

At the far edge of the paddock, Harry leaned against the upper bars to cradle a thestral's head and muzzle against his shoulder. He had taken off his shimmering outer robes and hung them over a post almost a yard away, which was a smart move, in her opinion, because the snuffling animal was leaving a trail drool and blood down his arm every time it licked him. Watching them together, she was struck by how nonthreatening the beast seemed as it nuzzled her friend. It was only as she stared at its lapping tongue curling around his forearm that she realized, or noticed really, that he had dropped the glamour he always wore.

She knew it wasn't a glamour precisely, even if it acted as one, but she had nothing else to call it... except maybe wish magic, but they never really spoke about it, even though it was well known in his house that he had worn it constantly since coming out of the hospital wing their first year. Staring at him quietly communing with the beast, she couldn't help but wonder what would have prompted him to drop it, now, with so many strangers in close proximity.

"Hi, Boomslang," she greeted him softly, not wanting to disturb him or the beast.

Despite her gentle greeting, however, Harry flickered his eyes up with a quick startled glance, flushing with embarrassment before he regained his composure and readjusted his appearance back to his normal, boy-who-lived image.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly.

"What?" Millicent asked quizzically, keeping an expression of confusion, though she suspected she knew why he was probably apologizing... and felt a slight stab of discomfort that he would class her with the rest of his yearmates that he felt the need to hide himself from.

"I - well - it's just -- you shouldn't have to look at -- I mean it's not --" Millicent barely heard his soft growl to himself that she hated it when he stuttered - and winced when his eyes flickered up, misinterpreting her shudder, "Not a pretty picture -- is it? ... I'm sorry; I shouldn't have forgotten myself."

Intentionally misreading his comment, Millicent pointedly studied the thestral beside him, "Oh, I don't know. I think she's rather... striking... in a way. I know Pansy says they look like golems with a bit of mouldered leather stretched over a dessicated horse skeleton, but somehow they seem, I don't know. Maybe more real, to me, than the flighty, feathery pegasus she coos about. I'd be embarassed as a Slytherin even to admit a fondness for those airheads, much less coo and drool over them like she does. Now, thestrals... they're something. Sure, they're smaller and thinner than those haughty feathered gluttonous beasts that slurp up honeyed grain and ale, but who wants a lush of a horse. Thestrals are far more reasonable- give them a bit of raw meat, especially some caspian eel and they'll come right to you. Would a pegasus do that? No on your life..."

Thinking that she'd said enough to divert his discomfort, Millicent finally slipped her real message in, "and take a look at their scars. They're survivors; that's for sure. One of those feather-brains would probably keel over from what a thestral would brush off as a scrape. Merlin save me from obnoxious creatures that think over much of their pretty faces: pegasi, gryffindors... and preening professors - they're not even worth the weight of their own egos, much less a knutsack of galleons."

The high blush on his cheeks was enough to show that Harry had caught her meaning, so Millicent pushed on while she had his attention, "Speaking of which, I've got some news..."

"Really?" Harry's discomfort and embarrassment faded quickly in his attentiveness. "What's up?"

"Professor Lockhart." She answered dryly.

"What about him?" Harry asked carefully, easily recognizing the tone she used with sore subjects.

"I'm finally free of him. Not that that's saying much... Mummy dearest is already scoping out a replacement for him already, but..." Millicent shrugged mentally, deciding to take Pansy's advice, and slowly trailed her hand along the paddock rail as she walked to the gate.

"But ?" Harry repeated, clearly unsure whether it was safe to prompt her for too much information.

"Yeah..." Millicent murmured softly, trying to make herself seem more appealing, softer... prettier, lighter in her stride, as she walked through the gate and approached him, "But... at the moment... she hasn't sold me off to the highest bidder, yet... So, I . Can . Still . Do . This ."

As she reached him, Millicent laid a hand on each shoulder to prevent him from backing up - smiling as she felt him freeze under her touch, glad that at least she wouldn't have a fight to get even closer - and slowly leaned in to press a not quite chaste kiss on his lips. Smiling again as his lips dropped open in surprise, Millicent leaned in a second time taking advantage of his shock and slipped her tongue into his mouth for a quick dart over his tongue before retreating. It was a weird way of kissing, but Pansy said that boys really liked it, and though she would never be stupid enough to mention it to Draco, Millicent knew that Pansy had enough experience to know of what she spoke.

Pulling back to study his wide, startled eyes, Millicent shocked herself by giggling. He looked ... flabbergasted... and cute. Very cute with his mouth wide open like that. Dipping her face towards his again, she started to press a third, deeper kiss on him, when he came to his senses and finally stepped away. Shaking his head.

"You....Stop. You - don't - " Millicent almost turned away hurt and irritated that he'd apparently disliked her kissing him so much that he'd actually tell her to stop, but Harry's next words reached her before she hand the chance to release his shoulders, "You don't have to touch me... to kiss me. I want to help. I ... Just because ... just because you're my friend. You - you don't have to -- put out. I'd never ask that."

Realizing with surprise that her own mouth had dropped open with shock, Millicent snapped her mouth shut and pulled her hands back to her cheek to cover the embarrassed flush she could feel rising to pink the skin beneath her fingertips. "Harry... I- I - I'm sorry. I..."

Unwanted and unexpected tears must have sprang and crested her lashes because before she even realized what was happening, and Harry was lifting a blood and drool smeared thumb to wipe beneath her eyes before he realized what he was doing only cast a breathless scourgify to clean his hand and her cheek.

"Millicent Bulstrode..." Harry met her eyes with a shy smile that warmed her even as she felt horrible with shame at the realization of what her actions had been saying about her. He was right in describing it as putting out. She'd been no better than a tease... a slut promising something that they were both too young for, just to manipulate him. She was not Pansy Parkinson. She. Was. Not. And. Even if it meant that she had to marry her mother's next poor choice... well...

"Millicent, I asked you a question?" Harry prompted her with a mix of expressions on his face that seemed part curious, part amused, part uncertain.

"What? I'm sorry. I - I'm sorry." Millicent blathered a bit before making herself shut up. Maybe she hadn't done so much that she had screwed up their friendship. She could probably say that she had just wanted to see what kissing was like while she wasn't prevented from it by a betrothal arrangement. He might buy that.

"Millicent Bulstrode, will you please stop overthinking everything, and accept my request to court you? Would you please agree to consider being my betrothed?"

When the words finally sunk in, and her head cleared, Millicent was startled to find herself sitting on the ground in the muddy paddock. Harry was still staring at her - on eye level - but only because he had crouched with her as she had plopped down.

"Daboia..." He murmured gently when he thought that she was aware of him again, "Let's try to stand up... why don't we? I don't think you should have come in here... into the paddock. It's awfully muddy and... It's ... your gown. I'm not good at the cleaning spells on clothing, but I can call one of the house elves. I'm sure that they can help."

"What?"

"Your gown. I'm sure that Lubby or Kibby or Dobby can get the mud off. Lady Malfoy didn't want me to get dirty, so I don't think they would have cleaned my Christmas robes, but I'm sure that she wouldn't have told them not to help you."

"No, what did you say? What did you? I can't believe that...No, I ... Did..." She trailed off with an abashed look and stared at him. "You didn't just... did you?"

Nodding, Harry ducked his head, trying to hide the amusement curling his own lips. Seeing her somehow so unraveled was somehow funny to Harry. Millicent was always the one in control of herself; it was funny to see her so discombobulated just because he'd caught her by surprise and asked her first, but then she probably hadn't realized that he would have had a clue to what she was about. To be honest, he probably wouldn't have if his father and Draco hadn't clued him in.

His father had sat him down last year and had a long talk with him about her motivations for acting the way she did - wanting to be certain that Harry didn't just accept her friendship at face value. What neither he nor Draco, who had also warned Harry about Millicent's mixed agenda, didn't seem able to understand was that Harry understood where she was coming from and didn't blame her. He knew what it was like to be trapped, living with someone because of someone else's decision, and had decided as soon as he could figure out a way to help her, he would.

Being betrothed wasn't such a big deal either; it wasn't like any of the other girls of their year, or above, held any attraction to him... or he to them. Millicent seemed like the only sensible one of the bunch, other than Hermione Granger, and Harry rather thought that Neville Longbottom had a crush on her. No, this he could do, and he knew how to do it, too, thanks to the tutoring that she'd given him in wizarding traditions and customs. The only obstacle would have been if her parents had decided that she was too young to be betrothed (as most waited until their daughters were at least fourteen), but that wouldn't be a problem because even though she was only twelve, she'd already been in one betrothal contract for over a year.

The only thing to worry about now was how his father would react.

Holding her hand, as they walked back up the path, Harry reflected on the feeling, enjoying guiding her for a change. Millicent had done so much to make certain that he understood his place and responsibilites in the wizarding world; he couldn't help but feel grateful that he could use some of what she'd taught him to help her make her own place in the world what she wanted it to be.

Pausing as he thought about it, Harry turned to face her, feeling that he had to make certain she understood, "Daboia, I mean it. I want to do this, and not because you'll owe me for it. I already owe you a lot. And not because you kissed me back there. You don't have to do that, or anything else. I'll be your betrothed as long as you want... until you find someone you want, but it's not a trade off. I won't ... you don't have to ... you know."

He blushed uncomfortably, but held her eyes, watching and misinterpreting the slight glint of something that he thought was probably relief because she knew she wouldn't have to touch him again... that way. He didn't think that anyone, at least not anyone who knew what he really looked like, even before the dark mark, would want that, and wasn't surprised that she would be more comfortable knowing it wasn't required.

"Boom, you're such a hufflepuff, sometimes. You know that?" Millicent commented, seeming to come a little back into her own. "What if I want to do that? Hunh?"

Blushing so hard that he felt like he could probably cast an incendio just from the heat of his cheeks, Harry felt his mouth dry so quickly that he wasn't certain he could get a single word out. He hadn't expected her to want to kiss him, but then he hadn't expected her to like the thestrals either ... or him, either... for that matter, and he wasn't so dense that he didn't get that she'd been trying to say that in her little comment about Morgana's scars. He hadn't expected her to want to kiss him, and his heart raced at the thought of it. He hadn't expected it, but...

"Uhhh, yeah. That's okay, too."

And it really was because, even though he'd been surprised by her, he hadn't been so out of it that he didn't notice that she was a good kisser. That would definitely be okay... if she wanted to.

"Really?"

That funny little smirk that came to Millicent's lips whenever he made a joke about Draco taking too long in his grooming appeared as she watched him, and Harry couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement run over his lips. Without noticing, he nibbled the edge of one as he watched her watching him... or more precisely watching his lips - and wondered what she was waiting for - until he realized that she had asked him a question, or at least he thought she did.

"Yeah."

"You're sure? Because I won't do it if you don't want me to." Millicent responded reasonably in her normal dry tone. It was too normal and too dry for her to be teasing him, but somehow he still thought maybe she was ... just a little bit.

"No, I mean yeah, I'm sure. I'd like that."

"Good."

The funny smirk was on her lips again, and it took him a moment to realize that he'd actually admitted to wanting her to kiss him, and the blush heated his face almost to burning, but he couldn't be bothered with it, because her hands were on his shoulders again, and she was staring at his lips and moving forward as if time had slowed to a hundredth of its normal speed.

- - - - - - - - -

"So, Millicent is your choice for Harry." Lucius observed, glancing over his wife's shoulder as she watched the children coming up the path.

"For the moment." Narcissa agreed mildly before turning and handing her husband the file that she'd withdrawn from the drawer by the window. "Your gift."

"Thank you, My Love." Lucius kept his tone even. The fact that she had even considered giving him a gift was promising, but for it to be contained in a manilla file - was ... unusual. Summoning Lubby, he sent the elf for the ornate chest that he'd left in his carriage.

As he waited for the elf to return, he lifted the file, "May I?"

"Of course, Lucius. I see no reason to stand on formality now that you have corrected your error."

Lucius winced at the reminder, even as he looked down at the file folder in relief. At least, she was willing to proclaim the matter over and done with. While there might be some lingering impatience on her part, that was all he would probably have to fear.

Tipping the file folder open, he stared down at the first prospectus sheet, periodic accounts, profit and loss statements, and statement of cash flows, then read through it leaf after leaf until the final auditing and diversification of assets. With each sheet, his mouth grew drier and drier, as he read over the complete dismantling of the very first firm that he had managed, the firm that his father had given him when he turned eleven, the one investment he, still, sentimentally favored above all others. She had completely and ruthlessly divested him of its assets, even while making their accounts a marginally respectable profit, but her message rang through quite clearly to him.

As he had often observed before, Narcissa's temper came in two varieties, one which burned hotly and could be quickly tamped with a sharp strike of some manner -- or the second, far more dangerous, variety which burned beneath an icy shield but that could not be quenched without utter destruction. He should have realized from the first, on seeing how calmly she had accepted his assurances that he would extricate them from the matter of Riddle's diary that he had invoked the second manifestation of her anger, but he had foolishly assumed that her pleasure over her successful manipulations of Severus and her half-blood cousin, Nymphadora had overshadowed her ire towards him. The evidence before him proved the depth of his misconception, and yet, he could not help but breath a relieved sigh with the recognition that she had actually given him a gift. Her vengence had been personal and vicious, but he, his health, wealth, and reputation were all very much intact, with no reason other than her desire for them to be so.

Turning to watch her gently cupping the phoenix roses that he'd returned with from his visit to Romania, Lucius smiled thinly. He had known from the moment that he'd seen the stunning hybrid blooms go to ash and instantly rebud that Narcissa would prize them, and from the softening line of her lips, he could see that he had chosen wisely. Narcissa, his keen edged blade, his rapier beauty, for all of the hazard of her acquaintance, for all of the perfection that she demanded simply by being his, was truly his queen... his ice queen, and Lucius was never more sure of it as when her pale lips turned at the outermost edges into a true smile.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he studied the exquisite flowers a moment longer, then whispered: "They befit you, My Love."

When she finally rose, turning in his hands, one of her own slipped behind his neck while the other rested on his waist, and she moved incrementally closer it seemed to Lucius as if time slowed to be counted only by the movement of her breath over her lips as she drew near.


	40. Chapter 40

Tiniest Wish: Ad Captandum Vulgus, Part 40

Rating: T - warning for language.

Chapter Summary:The only thing Harry had to worry about was how his father would react....

A/N Italics = Flashbacks. (For those who have had a difficult time keeping track of time, this is still during the Christmas break of Harry's second year – after Harry's come out of his coma and Sev and Tonks were married. Also, with regard to their private names for each other - Naja = Draco, Boomslang, Boom, or Boomer = Harry, Daboia = Millicent)

Part 40,

Ignoring the chiming ring of fairy bells, calling attention to their table, so that his mother could finish her sharp aside about several of Narcissa's guests, whom she had known in her youth, Severus was caught by surprise when Nymphadora caught his wrist and hissed under her breath, "Sev, it's Harry; he's trying to get your... and everyone else's attention."

Swinging his gaze in his son's direction, Severus was startled again to see Harry standing, several seats away, between Draco and Millicent, who were still seated. In a pale and slightly trembling hand, he held a stand of crystal fairy bells that Draco reached up to take out of Harry's hand - probably urging him subtly to make whatever announcement they'd schemed up.

Severus flashed a warning glare at Draco, before raising an eyebrow at his son - causing Harry to pale further. Thankfully Harry was facing Severus with his back to the hall full of guests, for Severus doubted that Draco and Millicent's coaching from first year had been enough to prepare Harry for being the absolute center of attention of one of Narcissa's gala events. Even at his birthday, the stunning little speech had been delivered in the heat of the moment, for Harry, without the focus on traditional formulas that a single slip of which might draw strong, distracting reactions.

Still, when Harry spoke, his voice was steady, clear, and appropriately loud, "My father."

"Yes, my son." Severus responded patiently, wondering why Harry had chosen one of the traditional forms that would require him to acknowledge his relationship to Harry. Such acknowledgements were usually reserved for questions of great conflict, where the family relationship might be preserved only by careful cultivation of their dispute. Harry should have realized that there was no request, or mistake he could make, that Severus would renounce him for - yet Harry was staring at him with a partially hopeful that almost begged Severus not to dismiss him out of hand, embarrassing him in front of Narcissa's guests.

"You have stated your desire to accept me as your son... an heir of your blood... and the traditions of the Prince family" Harry paused, startled as Severus's eyes widened in response to his son's words.

Torn between infuriation at Harry's risking the secret they had sealed that very morning with the charm, making Harry the only soul who could and shock at Harry's phrasing providing the obvious answer... an answer so obvious that he was utterly dumbfounded - trying to understand how he had overlooked it - Severus studied Harry's face, wondering if his son had even realized the impact of his words. Blood adoptions, though uncommon and disapproved of in some corners, were still not completely forbidden. If they chose to perform the ritual, Harry's bloodline and connection to the Prince line through his mother, would be indistinguishable magically from Severus's, subsumed in the much closer magical bond. It was unlikely that the inheritance charms could even pick up the trace through Lily's lineage - as blood adoptions in all but the most powerful blood lines often negated the traces of all other lineages.

Was this why Harry had used the cautious inquiry - fearing that Severus would be angered because he had taken such a risk, but then why wouldn't his son have spoken to him first? He had been well aware, since the end of the summer, just before his and Harry's collapse, that Harry didn't completely trust in Severus's desire to adopt him. Had he feared that Severus would refuse his desire to perform a blood adoption?

"Traditions of a Noble and Ancient Family - that can be traced back to Salazar Slytherin himself."

Harry's phrasing implied that he understood exactly what he said, not that that fact would get him out of a stern lecture... later, for the moment, Severus was more concerned with where could he possibly be going with it... and why?

"Yes, you are my son and heir in all but blood, and when the allotted time has passed, that too will be rectified." Severus swore to himself that his voice was as even as his son's, but could not be completely certain because Nymphadora chose that moment to, all-too casually, lay her arm close beside his -forearm by forearm- in silent support.

"Then, Father, as you are the patriarch of the Prince bloodline and guardian of it's ancient traditions, as your future heir, may I ask a question?"

Severus studied Harry's face for several second, a smile growing on his lips as he finally had enough information to recognize the formula. After shooting a quick glance at Narcissa, he contented himself with to nod lightly at the calculating glimmer in her gaze.

"Of course, you honor your family by observing our noble traditions." Severus responded in a mild tone, beginning to suspect that he recognized where his son's announcement was going and why.

"I believe I have met my match; how should I tell?" Harry broke off as their audience finally reacted in a boisterious surge of whispered speculations.

"There are seven qualities that a Prince match must possess: lineage, standing, observance of tradition, intellect, grace, discretion, and beauty."

Throughout the hall, Severus noticed hopeful mothers glanced at their daughters, wondering if their daughter had had the opportunity to interact with Harry - all but Madam Bullstrode, who was glancing around at the others with an irritated calculating glance.

"She possesses each and all - in abundance." Harry suddenly smiled with confidence as Millicent's gaze shot up to his in surprise.

"Are there others who can attest to these qualities?" Severus inquired formally. Surreptitiously watching Madam Bullstrode's face for the moment that she would realize that it was her daughter, whom Narcissa had chosen for Harry.

"Yes. She is the daughter of trueblood, as can be attested to by all present."

"She possesses lineage, then... and standing?"

"Yes, her parents have secured their positions in society. This too can be attested by all present."

"Standing, then... and observance of tradition?" Severus prompted.

"It was she, who first tutored me in the lineage, customs, and traditions of the Ancient and Noble families. Draco can bear witness to her tutelage, and you, yourself, have acknowledged my grasp of our family's forms."

"Observance of tradition, then... and intellect?"

"Of that, you may attest to yourself, for she is your student, and you have commended her work, and saw it fit that she tutor me."

Severus nearly chuckled as Madam Bullstrode's head jerked in their direction with neck cracking speed.

"Intellect, then. In abundance, as you say, and grace?"

"She shared the stage beside me, and my birthday celebration, and the applause of our audience. As many here, may also attest to, including again, yourself."

"Grace, indeed, and discretion?"

"She has held her oath of Slytherin, honored the secrets of our family and her own, and would not allow a former suitor to persuade her to actions which though innocent - might have seemed innappropriate."

"Her discretion, I can not dispute... and beauty?"

Here Severus noted, Millicent's uncomfortable shifting, that had begun in the discussion of her grace, began to distract Harry, who looked down at her with a worried frown. Severus could not help but hope that his son had anticipated the question."

"Her beauty may not be likened to a fragile flower." Harry began, noticing Severus's cautioning gaze.

"Nor a delicate crystal... nor other common idles that describe other girls."

Harry paused, for effect, Severus thought (or hoped), before he continued with a line that caused Severus to stare at his son with a impressed gape: "No, she is a treasure far more rare and pure. Her beauty can only be likened to Dragon's gold - easily overlooked by those without discerning eyes, perhaps, but more rare and more treasured than any standard can apply."

Throughout the room, women, even the mother's who one by one gave up hope of their daughter catching Harry, sighed at the romantic statement. Their daughters ahhed and cooed sadly... all but Millicent, who stared up at Harry with a glimmering gaze made sparkling by barely restrained tears. The flush on her cheeks still attested to her obvious certainty that she hadn't expected him to be able to support a claim of beauty for her."

"And who may attest to that?" Severus prompted almost regretfully, but Harry had chosen the form... and it's consequences.

"I attest to that." Harry protested obstinately, even realizing, as he must that it required a second voice to be seen as a binding and legitimate declaration of his intention to court Millicent.

"As do I." Draco rose beside Harry, shaking off Pansy Parkinson's grip on his arm.

"Beauty, then, for all present can attest to a Malfoy's discernment of beauty." Severus agreed quickly with a quelling glance at Pansy that caused the girl to drop back in her seat with a huff.

"By these testimonies, it appears that you have indeed met a match, but have you considered this thoroughly? Many would say that twelve is too young an age to concern yourself with such questions."

"Would you leave unclaimed dragon's gold on the shelf for another to discover - were you to recognize it's worth? We are young, yes, but she has already been offered to another, who was too foolish to recognize the treasure he had within his reach? I do not intend to copy his mistake." Gasps at Harry's audacity filtered through the room, but most were accompanied by amused smiles - particularly when several guests noticed Madam Bullstrode shifting with embarrassment.

"Sound wisdom. What do you intend henceforth?"

Harry straightened, proudly grateful for his father's cooperation and declared in a voice that matched, "I intend to court Millicent Bullstrode, convince her of my worth, and convey upon her the Ancient and Noble Prince name."

A patter of applause rose throughout the hall, combined with pleasant laughter, and excited gossip, as several rose to congratulate Millicent... both for Harry's strong performance, and for their perceived cunning.

Everyone in the room, including Madam Bullstrode, recognized that with Harry's social and political standing, as the Boy who Lived the soon-to-be heir of an Ancient and Noble family, the Bullstrodes had been virtually trapped in a betrothal agreement by the declaration. It was in fact the primary purpose of the ancient formula - to announce the desires of an aristocratic family - to virtually steal the daughter of a usually lower standing house ( in terms of political, financial, and often military power) - behind a veil of civility so that the family could turn the daughter over before the higher placed family took more drastic measures.

Like the blood adoption ritual that Harry had simultaneously announced, though rarely performed, the ancient formula was still honored - and often idealized as the romantic quest of those matched by true love - instead of planning- who recognized that their actions might fly in the face of both their families' wishes, hence the clear reminder of family status at the beginning of the form.

Pansy was the first to actually get out of her seat to congratulate Millicent with a tight hug and whisper that brought a quickly-erased frown to Millicent's face. By the time Pansy had pulled away, there were other's in their year, waiting in line to offer their congratulations.

Harry seemed oblivious to it all, though, allowing Draco to deflect little comments with smiles and questions to Harry that drew the appropriate responses from Harry. Instead, of paying attention to the throng of guests that had rushed to congratulate him, Harry was too intently searching Severus's all-too-mild expression for his reaction to notice anything else... not even the petulant glare of his soon to be adopted mother, who's mouth seemed to be moving without issuing a sound.

tbc...

* * *

Coming Attractions: Tonk's, Madam Bullstrode's, and Severus's reactions ... and other nightmares


	41. Chapter 41

The Tiniest Wish: A Return to Normal, part 41

Rating: T+

Summary: Nymphadora, Severus, and Madam Bullstrode's reactions... and other nightmares.

**A Return to Normal**

Nymphadora glanced around the bedroom that her Aunt Narcissa had deemed to be theirs whenever she, Severus, and Harry visited Malfoy Manor. The suite was, quite frankly, stunning. She didn't even have the words to describe it.

By the time she turned nine, her mother had given up hope of teaching her to distinguish between fabics and colors and the qualities of furnishings and almost everything else that a well-bred, well-trained daughter of even mixed heritage should know- clinging hopefully to ballet as Nymphadora's sole appreciation of culture. But, even with absolutely no knowledge of the discernments that both her mother and aunt must have seen when they considered rooms like this, Nymphadora was entirely certain of at least one fact about the room and it's contents: every single item in the room - from the ornately carved jadestone pitcher and wash basin to the palm-sized sachets in their 'smalls' drawers - would each, individually, cost well above her annual salary to replace**.**

Nevertheless, even with their incalculable expense in mind, Nymphadora was barely suppressing the almost irresistible urge to redecorate the room - auror style... slicing every one of the fancy, lace trimmed pillows right down the center of its elegantly stitched case- spilling its innards out as if she had anticipated finding a dark object at its heart... rending the duvet to tattered threads... and reducing the mattress to clumps of shredded cloth and stuffing that littered the floor like mounds of snow - hiding the shattered remains of the jade wash basin and pitcher, the crystal vanity set, and every other little overly expensive bauble in the room.

Nymphadora had fine-tuned her skills with pin-point reductos, during her auror training, to the point that she could reduce the armoire's etched panes to a crystalline dust that would sift through the finest sieve, without minutely disturbing a single item inside... and was very tempted to do so, just to even the score with her aunt for silencing her, when she would have protested Harry's declaration; for using a motion block to prevent her from interrupting Severus; and worst of all, for using a bartenders charm to banish her to her room like an inconvenient drunk with a warning that she would stay there until her temper had cooled.

Well... it wasn't going to cool, and if Narcissa and Severus thought they could get around her with such tactics, they had another thing coming... and clearly no idea what she was capable of.

- - - - -

Albus Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his office chair, attempting to ease his growing sense of discomfort. He had been, until that moment, do**z**ing comfortably after enjoying the delicate bergamot infused tea that Severus, Nymphadora, and Harry had sent him in the stocking of Christmas favors that he had received that morning. Even with Fawkes trilling a melodic lullaby, his unease grew, causing him to shift and turn in his chair as mind was besieged with flickers of images from his brief glimpse into the time turner at Harry's sorting.

Even in his sleep, he knew that his subconscious mind was trying to draw his attention to some meaningful tidbit of a memory, but the focus continued to elude him as he tried to concentrate on the memory. It constantly shifted and slipped in his memory until his growing frustration woke him - with the mystery no clearer to his waking mind than it had been to his sleeping mind.

As he rose from his desk, pushing the tea setting aside abruptly, Fawkes chirped querulously.

"I do not know, my friend. Something eludes me, but I know it is there."

Pulling his pensieve from the cabinet across from his desk, Albus concentrated on his memories of the time turner's portents, and slowly cautiously drew it from his mind, being extremely careful to capture and include every moment of his gaze into the time turner.

Turning back to his familiar, Albus invited it to join him, "A second set of eyes would be appreciated, and I believe you would enjoy seeing the my first viewing, it suggested most unique outcome that I would never have anticipated."

- - - -

Severus waited for Harry's suitemates to finally tire of running interference for their friend, and approached his son, and his son's betrothed. As his son turned to face him, Severus smiled at the alert, slightly anxious expression that flickered through Harry's eyes before he dropped his Slytherin 'face' in place.

"A blood-adoption and a betrothal announcement in one fell swoop," Severus commented dryly, watching with a trace of amusement as his son's eyes widened anxiously. "Quite the social coup, in fact. I am not certain that even Lucius and Narcissa could have planned a more ambitious announcement. Narcissa must be positively elated to have it made at her festivity- securing it as the most remembered event of the season."

When Harry's shoulder's eased slightly, Severus mildly taunted his son, " I am quite sure that I will remember hearing the announcement of your proposed union -at the same time as your guests - for some years to come."

Harry's eyes blinked rapidly as his caught the subtle slight, but remained clear as they met Severus's - trying to gauge his father's true reaction.

"Given the time ... and other constraints... that you were working under, however, I quite understand why you took advantage of the opportunity when it arose." Severus smiled softly, reaching out to grasp his son's hand and shake it. Harry's eyes grew more luminous with praise when he continued: "Well-handled, Son, and well-chosen."

"Thank you, Sir." ... "Thank you, Professor Snape." Harry and Millicent chimed simultaneously, clearly surprised by his acceptance though for undoubtedly different reasons.

- - - -

Albus withdrew from the penseive, returned Fawkes to his perch, and thanked his familiar for accompanying him. Glancing out the window, to confirm that it was after dark, when they had finally come out of the basin - close to four hours, at the nearest estimation, after they had entered the penseive. Settling back into his chair, Albus sighed wearily, laying a hand across eyes to massage his eyes, as he considered and re-considered the path of the future that he had witnessed the night of young Harry's sorting... and the potential changes that he had already noticed. Perhaps they were nothing... perhaps Lady Malfoy would still move in to Severus's quarters for his protection even despite his marriage to young Nymphadora... perhaps some event would allow Albus to reconcile with the Weasleys and invite their children to return to Hogwarts and form the alternate trio with Neville. Perhaps, really nothing had changed. Perhaps, the changes were inconsequential. Nevetherless, his concerns spiraled in his thoughts until he could not choose any other course but to summon the time turner.

- - - -

As he had waited, Severus's pique at Harry's unconsulted revelation of the Prince lineage had diminished as he considered the suggestion from every angle he could conceive of and found it to be a sound solution to a potentially dire dilemma. He had shuddered to even think of the spells and rituals that Voldemort could have performed had he known that he had a hereditary link to Harry, much less that he was the effective head of that branch of the bloodline. But a simple ritual... an obvious ritual -- that would have been welcome to him even if it were not for the additional protection -- and the problematic hereditary link would be negated and subsumed into the magically closer bond of a deliberate blood adoption.

"Out of the mouths of babes." Severus murmured to himself, bemused.

"Sir?" Harry asked uncertainly, clearly hesitant to bring up the matter that he knew Severus must have something to say about and concerned by a phrase that had no direct connection to the issue as far as he could see.

"An immaterial thought, Harry, at least for the moment; although, I trust you realize that we will need to discuss it sooner rather than later."

"Yes, Sir." Harry responded steadily, turning to smile gently at his betrothed when Millicent squeezed his hand in support. "Tonight, after the guests have returned home?"

"Satisfactory, and Millicent, there is much that we will need to discuss as well; however, I believe that is better left until the new year when we may return to Hogwarts."

"Yes, Sir." Millicent answered, shifting her eyes away as Harry squeezed her hand, offering his own support.

"Very well, then, I reiterate my congratulations and approval, and wish you both well in your courting. Should either of you wish or need to discuss any matters related to the courting and betrothal traditions, please feel free to set an appointment with me when we return."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Harry and Millicent echoed.

"You are more than welcome. Enjoy the remainder of the party." Severus closed out their discussion, dismissing them by his tone as he turned to find Narcissa approaching him with a slightly muted smile.

- - - -

During the review of his previous time turner viewing, Albus had developed a theory that he was now almost loathe to test - lest he discover that it was his own behavior that may have changed the promising course of history he first viewed the eve of Harry's sorting. Sensing his discomfort, Fawkes trilled a soothing melody... then repeated it moments later when Albus still hand not lifted the device, seeming to urge the headmaster to face the possibly changed future - if only to ease his worries if he was mistaken.

Finally, acknowledging his familiar's soothing presence with a sighed, "thank you," Albus gazed into the falling sands - watching Harry and his friends strolling through an elegant hall, festooned with the trappings of a traditional Christmas festival. In those brief seconds watching the child, Albus could appreciate the fine job that Severus had been doing with the child - drawing from the once timid, needy child a slowly developing social grace that would well-befit the man he could become.

A fine quartet: they walked, side by side. Draco, with young Miss Parkinson on his arm, carried himself with his father's regal bearing while Harry, seeming only marginally less at ease, shyly intertwined his fingers with young Miss Bulstrode's as they walked, speaking to each other in smiling asides.

- - - -

"Quite an unexpected turn of events, Narcissa, but I must admit that your festivities are always eventful. Am I wrong to discern your delicately manicured touch guiding the children's sudden decision?"

"No more than yours, I'm sure." Narcissa answered glibly.

Severus stared at his friend's wife, wondering whether she truly had no measure of his character whatsoever or whether her joust had some measure in truth that he had not been aware of. "How so?"

"Installing a witch in the seven? A witch, whose greatest distress is an admittedly inappropriate betrothal, but no greater fear... and you would have me believe that you had not even considered the possibility that this might occur?"

"I had recognized the possibility, but not in the manner that you suggest. As for Miss Bulstrodes' presence in the seven... it is justified by tradition and other matters I am not at lliberty to discuss." Severus answered stiffly.

Quite certain that neither Harry nor Draco had divulged the fact or reason that Millicent had been chosen as one of his seven, Severus was nonetheless incensed that one of his little snakes was an oath-breaker. When he discovered which little reckless fool it had been, Severus would see the treacherous child obliviated of his house's secrets and summarily expelled for offenses against his or her house - one of the few areas and charges against which the headmaster's often incautious mercy could still be overridden by a Head of House's discretion.

It would need to be very carefully handled, but unlike the headmaster and the dark lord, Severus would not tolerate an informant in his midst - knowing too well the destruction that one untrustworthy Slytherin could foment within their ranks - particularly if the little snake possessed the wit and guile to evade his detection, thus far.

"Severus, concern yourself with ferreting out your snake at a later date. You have a far more imminent, and invariably more explosive matter waiting your attention."

"Given that your phrasing carries rather ominous overtones, may I ask why I am sensing an air of amusement in your comment?" Severus asked, almost shuddering at her positively predatory smile.

"Oh, just wond-er-ing." Narcissa chimed in a subtly sing-song note that uncomfortably reminded Severus of her unbalanced sister.

"Yes?"

"Which do you suppose is my niece's most trying quality? Her Gryffindor self-righteous certainty? Her unpredictable, half-blood sense of humor? Or...her Black temper?"

Recognizing that Narcissa knew him quite well enough to realize exactly how frustrating he would find her comment, Severus did not try overly-hard to disguise his growl under a slightly petulant huff.

- - - -

Albus debated warning Severus of Harry's interest in the already-betrothed young pureblood, but ultimately decided against it on the grounds that he would not have been aware of the children's familiarity were he not already attempting to discern the ramifications of actions and decisions he had made on the basis of his previous viewing. In doing so, he may very well have changed the projected outcome. After pausing to watch and smile over the children's enjoyment, Albus consigned himself to the task at hand and deliberately turned the device over, reversing the sand's course to the point that he thought may have been the first noticeable point of change: the evening, early in the summer, when Severus had come to him, vexed by Narcissa's matchmaking.

Re-watching the memory, he shook his head in amusement, remembering Severus's near tantrum over Albus's approval of her suggestion.

Severus, for all of his intense and prickly pride was a wizard of shaky self-esteem and near blindness to his own best qualities - to the extent that he truly had not believed that Albus would permit him the right and joy most natural to all beings - of securing a mate and a family. Clearly, he still had far to go with Severus.

Sighing somewhat wearily, Albus made a mental note to better plan his future interactions with the young man, then pushed past that thought to urge the timeturner's projections forward.

- - - -

"What were you thinking?" Severus sidestepped, as his wife's scream was accompanied by a crash of china and a tinkle of shards striking the ground. The sounds of the delicate vase's destruction were followed by her growl of frustration and the whispering 'shirrush' of a charm being enacted to repair yet another item she had thrown.

"Nymphadora," Severus sighed, not needing to sidestep as another object, thrown with regrettably shaky aim, struck the wall over a yard to his right.

"Don't call me, Nymphadora!" She shrieked angrily, before spinning away from him, "He's just a child, Sev. Just twelve years old, and already you're trying to marry him off. If he were a girl, I'd think you were trying to get him out of the house; one less burden on a teacher's salary, but he's not. What is wrong with you? He's only twelve years old?"

Between bouts of hurling charmed, self-repairing objets d'arte domestique and shouting derisive deprecations and accusations, Nymphadora was favoring him with glares that would not have troubled even an over-sensitive, first year Hufflepuff and screaming that he was impossible - actually seeming to grow angrier with every minute that he did not.

"You seemed to have had no objection to my usage of your given name ... on our sabbatical." Severus retorted lightly.

Although he was relatively certain that it spoke well for neither him nor his suitability as a husband - that he was, once again amused, to find himself, the infamously reviled, Slytherin bastard, holding his temper while his wife, a reputedly amiable and pleasant, if mischievous Gryffindor spectacularly lost hers - there was something quite satisfying in holding the moral high ground against a Gryffindor, and Severus indulged her rant for some seconds more as she gesticulated wildly - until she finally turned on him with a frustrated glare .

- - - -

Fawkes grew concerned as the headmaster played and replayed the time turner's projections - growing more grimly silent with each replay.

- - - -

"Damn it, Sev. You're not even listening to me." She practically screamed.

"Quite to the contrary, Nymphadora. I have, in fact, been listening quite assiduously to every word you have ... uttered." He commented dryly, deciding that 'uttered' was a far safer description than the more accurate 'shrieked discordantly'.

"In the past seven minutes, you have described me as an uncaring, cold-hearted Machiavellian; questioned whether I should have my faculties probed by a mind-healer; implied that I am utterly absent of paternal compassion for both my son and his betrothed; likened me to a Malfoy house elf and Narcissa to a match-making, socialite obssessed dark lord (or lady) in the making; and interspersed between these aspersions repeatedly declared that I am absolutely impossible." Severus continued, barely suppressing the mild smirk that threatened to escape his control when she scowled at his calm recitation and crossed her arms over her chest. If she chose to stomp her foot, he was quite certain that even his staunch control would be insufficient to prevent the display of his amusement at her sudden regression to adolescence.

"No, you haven't." Nymphadora spun away, stamping her foot as she did, but thankfully with her back turned missed his slight, quickly-covered slip.

"You haven't really been listening to what I've said, just the negative stuff that you could throw back at me. Like I'm some sort of ranting child to be scolded."

"Far be it for me to be so impolitic to bring up the similarities; however, if you, yourself recognize the similarities ...." Severus did have to duck this time as a delicate porcelain sculpture of Napoleon's favorite stallion, with it's mane and forelock and tail all hand gilded in dragon's gold, grazed his hair - even as he ducked - and shattered, throwing sharp shards and bits down his collar only for them to scratch the back of his neck as the repairing charm pulled the shards back to reconstruct and reanimate the sculpture.

- - - -

Fawkes trilled in concern - unnoticed - when the headmaster's hand began to tremble.

- - - - -

"That's why I don't want you to use my name like that." Nymphadora finally gasped after another spate of invectives - a complete non-sequitor to the words she'd been muttering.

"Like that?" Severus canted his head, unaware of a specific tone that he might have inadvertently used when he addressed her.

"You sighed my name like I'm a child to be managed, like you did Harry's just before we left, when he was being a little ponce."

Before he could comment on her snark towards Harry, she rushed on, "That's what he is you know? A CHILD. Twelve years old. He's just twelve years old. Twelve year olds are too young to be deciding who they're going to spend their entire lives with.... Oh, Shut. Up." She growled blushing when he arched an ironic eyebrow at her comment.

"It's not the same, and you know it. And... anyway, it's not like we have a lot in common outside of Narcissa and the... headmaster, oh and being half-bloods ... and liking ballet and defense... and..." Blushing again when he arched his eyebrow as she seemed about to go into some of the various, somewhat surprising number of interests that they had discovered a common interest in, Nymphadora shook her head quickly, muttering, "It's not like we ever even had a 'real' conversation before Narcissa put us together."

- - - -

The headmaster's breath caught in his throat at several spots - causing Fawkes to chirp worriedly.

"My old friend," Albus finally sighed closing his eyes, "I have been so very foolish and made the worst of mistakes. Oh, with the best of intentions, of course, haven't I always made the worst of my mistakes with the best intentions?"

The little chuff of sound that caught in his throat might have been a chuckle or a sob - Fawkes could not be certain which, but the headmaster was speaking again so the familiar did not pause to wonder which.

- - - -

Realizing that she was actually undermining her own argument, Nymphadora reverted to his earlier comment, "Twelve is too young to be manipulated into a lifetime commitment, and you can't tell me that Narcissa didn't manipulate this. She manipulates everything."

"Granted," Severus acknowledged, recognizing that the small concession would likely provide the segue he needed to limit her potential responses.

"I had suspected as much when Mother informed me that Narcissa had been lunching with the mothers of several eligible young ladies in their first throught third years at Hogwarts."

"You did? Mordred and Morgana, Sev. If you suspected what she was about, why didn't you stop her?"

Pausing before he answered with a question of his own, "Nymphadora, tell me your impressions of Harry."

"Why?" Nymphadora's eyes narrowed at the unexpected question.

"Your response directly relates to the depth of detail that I will need to go into to address your question adequately."

"Don't try to Slytherin you way out of this, Sev," cautioned Nymphadora with a suspicious look.

When Severus failed to reply, Nymphadora sighed, "Oh alright... he seems a pretty average kid I guess. At first, he seemed pretty shy and standoffish, but after you two woke up, I guess he felt comfortable enough around me to act himself. Just before we left, though, I was a bit surprised to see that you'd let him mouth off to you like that, but wrote it off as nerves over the wedding - but now I'm not so sure. I know Narcissa manipulated things, and that you to haven't had a lot of time to get used to being father and son, but things have gone a bit too far when he thinks that he can do what he did tonight without even speaking to you first. Sev, you can't go on indulging him, or he'll end up a spoiled prat, just like mum said his father was, and I know you don't want that.

And, okay, I know his aunt and uncle were right erks, but you can't balance it out by giving him whatever he wants. Sev, You. Have. To. Know. That. and over-compensate or not being the fatherly sort either. Not everyone's lucky enough to have a father like mine or Bills, but still make out well enough. Anyway, Harry practically worships the ground you walk on. You don't have to buy his love and respect; you already have it. You know that right?"

- - - -

"But he has known so little happiness in his life, and has done so much more than should have ever been expected of him - how could I not have wished him for him to know the joys of a family... of unconditional love? Has he not more than earned them? Oh, but the tiniest wish, in the heart of a foolish old man - what havoc it has wrecked. My poor boy, I have doomed him, with the best of intentions, I have doomed him... and now, My Poor Boy, my poor Severus. He is set to lose it all - his recently recovered mother, his wife, his friends, and oh, most horribly, the very son who awoke and inspired his heart to such joys."

The headmaster's hand trembled as he set the time turner back on his desk and turned to Fawkes.

"My end goal, of course, is accomplished. Harry will defeat Voldemort, but what a terrible price is paid for it - and by one who has paid so very much already."

- - - -

Severus studied his wife with an appraising eye, dismissing her overly sentimental, practically insulting comments that were just barely bordering on drivel as the result of her Gryffindor nature... and tried to decide on the approach he should take.

She was a Gryffindor from cell to soul, as he had well-learned on the sabbatical that she could not bear to hear described by any other term than the cloying, nauseating appellation 'honeymoon'. She could not be any other than whom and what she was- that most dangerous manifestation of a Gryffindor: a black-blooded, auror-trained, half-blooded, bloody-minded... entrancing, infuriating, beguiling ...Gryffindor.

There were moments, though rare, when he was half-tempted to question Narcissa on what he may have done to her in a previous life that she held so great a grudge against him as to pair him off, in this life, with ... a woman who despite all of her most infuriating - and they were most infuriating- traits had yet, against all reasonable expectation, burrowed her way through his defenses with brazen, shameless mendacity. Those moments were fleeting, however, and he was often amused to find himself paired with one whose temper might very well exceed his own.

He had no certain proof of it, of course, having never previously had the cause nor desire, during the brief span of their union, to test her temper; however, he could not negate the fact that he had woken from his magical coma, just weeks earlier to find himself tended by a much suppressed Madam Pomfrey - an achievement that he had not, himself, succeeded in despite ten years of concerted effort.

But what extent of the truth was it safe to give his very emotional, very proactive wife? How much truth could she bear before her inborn thirst for Black vengence impelled her to seek revenge on the loathsome Dursleys? How much before she viewed their child as a figure of pathos instead of the resiliant suvivor that Severus knew Harry to be?

When she finally turned to him in appeal, after assuring him of Harry's love and respect, Severus shook his head and rose.

"An average child? If Harry is, as you say, an average child, Nymphadora, there is little reason to hold out hope for either the wizarding or the muggle world."

"Severus!" Nymphadora gasped with shock "How can you say that? You make it sound like you think Harry's a ticking time bomb - just primed to go dark at any second."

She stared at him aghast.

- - - -

When the headmaster looked back to Fawkes, as he laid his hand once again on the penseive, there was a haunted agony in his eyes, and a plea that is almost silent, until he speaks.

"Will you join me, my old friend? I must look upon these portents more clearly. I must discern whether there is any turning point that I may have overlooked. Any possible decision that will allow my dear boy to retain even the smallest of his treasures."

He did not, of course, truly need to ask Fawkes whether he would follow him into the penseive, but as always, his familiar appreciated the consideration and trilled a light acceptance.

- - - -

"You can't really believe that, can you? He's not. You have to believe me. He's not. As an auror, I've seen dozens... dozens of wizards -dark wizards- come through, who had had rough childhoods, so, yeah, I know that there can be stuff in their background that turns them; but, I'd swear on my life that Harry doesn't have a twitch of darkness in him. I swear it."

Smiling softly at her unquestioning loyalty to him and Harry both, Severus shook his head, "You make my point for me, Nymphadora. Even as truly rare as child abuse is in the wizarding world, you have seen dozens of dark wizards, who have come from such a background, and it is certainly understandable that it should be so."

At her confused expression, he continued, "It is not so difficult as you might think to accustom one's self to the rancor of one's family. To accept utter neglect with indifference and brutal abuse with equanimity. To camouflage the infirmity of one's spirit in the veil of normality. All that it requires is time ... and the solemn acceptance of the belief that it is an inescapable condition. Quite a simple matter, really.

From there, it is far easier task to distance oneself from the outside world, in general, losing your sympathy and compassion for others - when you have never experienced it from those who were best positioned to know you... to value you. If you were not valued by those closest, how could it be possible to be valued by the outside world? If you believed yourself unvalued by society, what value then does society and it's rules have hold for you? It is quite a simple logic that leads one to a most destructive path, of that I could have readily assured you - had you not seen it from your own experience."

"Oh, Severus." His wife's eyes were already shining with a glaze of sympathetic tears.

"It is a different matter entirely, however, to all the while - preserve one's innocence. To hold - even in the face of the worst rejection, neglect, and abandonment - to the barest hope of becoming something other than the entity that your own family believed you to be (a nuisance, a burden, a freak). To risk opening your heart - to the possibility of being valued by someone outside yourself when it has never before been your experience. To believe in the possibility - to merely believe in the possibility when unfulfilled hope can be the cruelest and most persistent of tortures. That is an entirely different matter, requiring uncommon strength. To retain a soul that has, as you say, 'not a twitch of darkness' ... No, Nymphadora, Harry is not an average child. A fact that we should be most thankful for, I believe, for I am firmly committed to the belief that not one in one-thousand could overcome their backgrounds in the same manner."

- - - -

Fawkes clenched her talons into Albus's shoulders as she watched the absent Weasley children return to Hogwarts with the Tri-Wizard cup. Two years had passed in relative peace for the family; but in the instant that the familiar first viewed the two banished redheads there was such an air... an indelible impression of incredible ... wrongness surrounding them (particularly in the young female - the sister who had never come to Hogwarts) that it nearly compelled the phoenix to escape the penseive- despite it's determination to console the headmaster.

- - - -

"But, having held so tightly to that hope, can you not see, what a devastating trap it then opens him to?"

"I..." Nymphadora paused as she tried to tie his disturbing comments into his strange acceptance of the Harry's sudden betrothal. "I... no, I don't. I'm afraid I don't."

"Very well. Let me put it to you thus. Place yourself in the shoes of a child who has, for the majority of his brief life, never been appreciated, touched with familial kindness, shown affection in nearly any form - but is suddenly faced with a bevy of young women, both above and below his age and rank, who will be quite willing to promise him an eternity and endless diversity of appreciation in both physical and non-physical manners - only to secure his name, fame, and status."

She stuttered something that almost sounded like 'gold-diggers' to him, but he dismissed her comment as he watched understanding grow in her eyes. She may have been half-blooded like himself, but she had worked in the ministry long enough to know that social status and marriage-secured alliances were still far too influential in rising through the ranks.

"Young women," he continued, "with forceful and ambitious parents behind them - as he neared his third year, when the vying for betrothals traditionally begins, would have been throwing themselves, most convincingly at him. How long, do you suppose, would it have been before he realized that it was not actually him they coveted, and how much more deeply would he have been hurt by that knowledge - and belief that never being loved for himself - was as inescapable as he has always feared?"

"But there can't be that many..."

"Perhaps I should note, that the headmaster remarked on his surprise, toward the end of the summer, that he had not yet received bethrothal announcements for last year's crop of the third and fourth years. It is, as you may remember, tradition to announce such betrothals at welcoming feasts to insure some decorum from otherwise impetuous teens who might be as unfortunate as to be smitten to one already betrothed."

"You think they're .... what waiting for Harry? To... to entrap him?"

- - - -

It was the female, who troubled Fawkes most. For despite the presence of the Beauxbatan's part veela, when young Miss Weasley stalked down the aisle, beside her brother, part of the Durmstrang contingent, the eyes and full attention of nearly every male in the school was firmly settled on her. Her eyes, however, were locked on the one set of eyes turned elsewhere - into the eyes of his own betrothed.

There was a fire in her eyes that may have been born of ambition, or simple jealousy... but the impression it left with Fawkes felt far closer to something much darker than ambition, more sinister jealousy.

- - - -

"To my knowledge, there has been no other reason for this sudden abstinence in marital arrangements. I can hardly credit that they would have even given him to his third year, once it became obvious how many others are waiting in the wings.

"How horrible, but there has to be some other answer."

"Do you dislike Millicent?"

"No, but...Twelve is still too young..."

"I agree." Severus almost murmured, he spoke so softly, "Twelve is too young to be forced to question whether every show of affection is a means to an end."

tbc......

A/N: After reading through this chapter in it's original form, I decided that it had to be divided up between three smaller chapters: this intro, one that focuses almost solely on the headmaster's projections in the time turner and the third on the Malfoy/Snape's Christmas morning. I have the other two almost completely written, in part because they are constitute several large sections cut from this chap.


	42. Chapter 42

The Tiniest Wish: Tempus dirus, part 42

Rating: T+

Summary: Time Turners.

_Fawkes clenched her talons into Albus's shoulders as she watched the absent Weasley children return to Hogwarts with the Tri-Wizard cup. Two years had passed in relative peace for the family; but in the instant that the familiar first viewed the two banished redheads there was such an air... an indelible impression of incredible ... wrongness surrounding them (particularly in the young female - the sister who had never come to Hogwarts) that it nearly compelled the phoenix to escape the penseive- despite it's determination to console the headmaster._

**Tempus dirus, part 42**

Albus's hand shook lightly as he reached up to stroke Fawkes ruffled breast feathers.

"Yes, My Friend, you sense it, too. I cannot say yet what it is, but ... well, perhaps it is better if you see for yourself without my impressions coloring your judgment." The Headmaster's voice wavered slightly as the penseive's mist rose to erase the Headmaster's memory of the timeturner's disturbing prediction.

Stepping through the mists as another memory did not immediately appear to replace the first, Albus lead Fawkes past a ghostly half resolved image of Harry kneeling over the downed form of an unfamiliar thestral, urging her to 'hold on', as tears rolled down his cheeks. When Albus did not stop to enter the memory, Fawkes trilled with both concern and inquiry.

"Ahh, yes. It is another tragedy for the boy, to be sure, but sadly, not an unnatural one that would allow us to interfere. There is another, however, that follows soon upon this loss that we might hope to alleviate."

Seemingly summoned by the headmaster's mention, the penseive mists cleared before Albus as yet another memory of the time turner's projections coalesced around them - taking them to festival stands erected at the edge of the Black Lake.

"I believe we are still in Harry's fourth year, young Mister Diggory would not still be a student, if it were any later; though I cannot credit that Severus would ever allow Harry to participate in such a perilous competition. It certainly had not seemed so in my readings his first year.

Together they watched as the projection of the future Albus announced the nature of the challenge and sent the six champions on their way, then waited anxiously for their return. Young Harry was first to surface, pulling an oddly limp young Miss Bulstrode behind him as he screamed frantically for his father from the first moment he broke the surface. The expression of abject horror contorting his face and the terror in his voice immediately silenced the crowd who had risen to give standing ovations on his remarkable performance. Only the tournament officiate, who tried to prevent Severus from interfering on behalf of his son did not seem to recognize the urgency.

A moment later, the protesting man found himself floundering and spluttering as he dragged himself out of the lake, weighed down by his now soaked robes - only to lose his grip and fall into the lake again as Severus dove into the water, after cursing when his attempt to levitate the children was blocked by the anti-cheating wards. Powered by the force and urgency of his dive, Severus reached Harry's side before needing to break the surface for air and swiftly clasped his hand around Harry's wand hand, guiding his son in the incantation to levitate the boy's betrothed to the aid station. After she was settled on the cot, he released his son's hand and quickly checked the boy over - shuddering in grim relief when he saw that Harry had received only a few scrapes during the challenge.

He ignored his son's attempts to push him toward the aid station, attempting to explain as gently as possible that it was already too late. Harry seemed to refuse to believe the claim until he reached the top of the ladder, himself, to see Madam Pomfrey cross young Miss Bullstrode's arm's across her chest in the traditional posture of eternal rest before draping a blanket over her unmoving form. From that point onward, Harry had appeared completely oblivious his surroundings, even as the trumpeters blared their welcome to the other champions who returned one by one with their 'treasures' intact and hale from their watery repose.

Fawkes chirrred eerily as the other champions walked past the station, generally shocked by the outcome - with the exception of the Youngest Weasleys, who too were wrapped in blankets and shivering from their morning excursion, but who were otherwise entirely unaffected by the announcement of the outcome. Perhaps, though, unaffected wasn't completely accurate, young Miss Weasley was inappropriately complimentary of her brother's swift retrieval - just barely a second behind Potter, even having the callous cruelty to remark that Ronald should have gotten the better marks because at least he had returned with his target alive.

"You'll note, of course, that Miss Bullstrode was singularly affected- belaying the possibility of a poor casting." Albus commented with a note of tension as he walked through the scene circling the cruel girl with a narrow-eyed expression of suspicious appraisal. "But, I do wonder if that is entirely true. The Merfolk would have alerted myself and officials if they had detected an outside interference to the spell, but would have been watching outward... what if the interference came from within the hostages' own ranks?"

After another circle around the young witch, the headmaster shook his head rapidly in a manner that suggested to Fawkes that his appraisal had given him no more insight than he had possessed before it.

"Come, though," Albus murmured softly, reaching up to smooth his familiar's agitated plumage. "There are other events to bear witness of, and then we must consider deeply, My Friend, what actions and warnings I may safely make." Turning away from the scene as Harry broke down in his father's arms, Albus tried to escape the child's heart-rending sobs before they could affect his sensitive familiar as deeply as they had affected him the first time he had viewed the scene.

* * *

Despite his efforts, the phoenix was shuddering on his shoulder as they broke through another veil of mists, into the center of a wooded labrynth, just as young Harry and Cedric were clasping their hands to the tournament cup. Albus had not been surprised, in his first viewing, that it was spelled as a portkey. Many times in the past, the prize at the center of labyrinth challenges was spelled to be a portkey that would instantly return the winner to the mouth of the maze and his adoring public.

As a result, he had been doubly unprepared to find the scene of a graveyard resolve around himself, young Harry, and the projection of Diggory. It had so unnerved him that he had momentarily forgotten that he was caught in a memory of the timeturner's predictions and had cast a rather fierce summoning spell as he attempted to through a headstone in the path of the killing curse cast by the wretched young man that Peter Pettigrew had become. In his distressed state, for the briefest moment, he had actually believed that his spell had taken effect, until young Diggory's words shocked him back to reality.

"Now, now, I realize that it has been some time since you made me, Dear Malvolo, but what purpose is there in making spares if you only intend to destroy them?"

"What?!?" a harsh, almost screeching tone cried out from a bundle that Peter was carrying.

"Do you not recognize your old self?" Diggory taunted him lightly, "Oh, wait, perhaps this will help..."

The young man reached into the pocket of his robes to pull out a potion that looked somewhat sludgy for all that it equally appeared clear and luminescent - the counter to a potion that Albus was only passingly familiar with: the poly-juice potion.

"Sin qua es illusia..." the young Diggory-who-wasn't 'incanted before swallowing the potion and tossing the vial aside. Almost instantly his face shifted and reformed as the potions reworked it making only the most minute of changes to each element that in combination had the most startling effect of revealing a face that Albus had not seen in over fifty years.

Harry by this point was gasping in shock and clutching his leg in pain as he crouched as low as he could behind a tombstone.

"How?" the Dark Lord, in the blanket, asked almost sounding as mystified as Albus himself had.

"Oh, you have one or two marginally loyal, if inept, servants left. This one, Crouch, Karkaroff, Malfoy..." Younger Tom Riddle sneered as he heard Harry gasp at the proclamation. "Oh yes, that must be a shock to you, I would imagine. Yes, your kind, gentile host plotted my return even as he welcomed you into his home. You would claim to be Slytherin, but cannot recognize that snakes can never be trusted. Pathetic.

It is in their nature to bite a hand reached out to them in friendship. Slytherin loyalty is only secured by guaranteeing that displeasing you is greater threat to their self-interest than any other, but that is a lesson your father has yet to learn as well, or so I hear."

"His father? His father is dead." The irritated bundle hissed. "I killed him myself."

"His birth father, certainly, but Harry has reportedly picked up another of our strays: someone whose masks are not so deceptive as are Dear Lucius's."

"Yesssss, I remember now, when I inhabited Quirrell. Severussssss.... Well, he shall be made to pay for his disloyalty. "

"You. Leave. My. Father. Alone!!!!" Harry shrieked, jumping out from behind the rock, his wand swinging wildly between Tom Riddle, Pettigrew, and the bundle.

Riddle's wand slashed, and Harry grunted as a bleeding gash opened on his forearm, inches above his wrist, but he held fast to his wand swinging it back toward Riddle. As he did, Peter Pettigrew twisted the wand he held and cast the expelliarmis - jerking the wand out of Harry's fingers. A moment later, Riddle ordered Pettigrew to cast a levitation spell lifting Harry to hang between the arms of an angel statue standing at the base of a memorial. Whispering an incantation, Riddle closed the statue's stone grip on Harry's wrists.

Fawkes swept off Albus's shoulder at that moment, unable to bear watching a moment longer, and fled the penseive, but Albus stayed, watching as they performed the ritual that bound the elder Voldemort's power and portion of spirit into Riddle's body, and then discarded the wasted body that Voldemort had only been able to preserve through regular feedings of powerful venoms and unicorns blood. Riddle's body, untainted by the slain unicorn's blood, would not be susceptible to its curse nor ravaged by nagini's venoms and promised the more powerful vessel for their corrupted soul, and neither had apparently even contemplated the possibility of remaining separate- likely aware that they would be too inclined to compete for ultimate control.

* * *

Albus shuddered, again, when they summoned the death eaters, and Severus answered the call to retrieve his son and the boy he'd thought was Diggory. Severus must have suspected that he would be attacked and possibly tortured because he had arrived wearing a basilisk dueling outfit beneath his familiar death eater's robes. The difference had given him the advantage when the newly-risen Dark Lord finally reached him.

Watching Severus's face again, Albus knew that biding his time until he'd had the best advantage, with his adopted son dangling from the statue, had been a torture of it's own. Voldemort, he thought, had been aware of it as well and had dragged out the approaching confrontation, starting first with Lucius, who would be standing at Severus's left and continuing around the circle to the left so that Severus would be last.

"Lucius, My Dear Old Friend, My Most Loyal Servant, I do wonder about you. I have never known you to be inept, nor disloyal, yet you wait twelve years, before you attempt to resurrect me, when the item was in your possession the entire time. Moreover, you did not return me to Hofwarts as you had been instructed to, but to Durmstrang, and now, I discover that you have not only been welcoming Potter into your home, but allowing him to corrupt your son - solely to appease your wife."

"No, My Lord, I merely sought to ensure that you were returned to a location that was most to your venefit. Karkaroff was there to... aid you, Dumbledore could have had no hint of your return before you desired it, and there would have been time for you to rebuild your army. Yes, Potter has been within my striking reach as often as I have been enabled. He has ... " Lucius paused to study Harry with a condescending expression, " had...grown to trust me, and would have been dead within seconds - had you ordered it."

"Perhaps, those are reasonable considerations, but you are not privy and have not been privy to all of my plans. It was your first duty to follow my orders in their exact letter. Still, you were of consequence in restoring me in my current condition, so I will be lenient. You may choose, your wife, or your son."

"My Lord..." Lucius neither begged nor pleaded with Voldemort for mercy, Albus saw, knowing from the horrified expression on Harry's face that even Harry realized that it would do no good. "My wife."

"Yes, I had warned you, Lucius, that you would not benefit from having a too-clever wife. You may have twenty four hours with her, then bring her to me. It has been many years since I have enjoyed a revel."

Lucius paled to a tone lighter than his hair, but nodded and murmured, "Yes, My Lord."

"And, Lucius, if you attempt to send her away: the cost will be far higher to each and every member of the Malfoy bloodline. Refuse me this, and there will be no one living who bears the name."

"Yes, Master."

One by one, he traveled around the circle of death eaters, assigning cruel punishments, and requiring further victims of them for his impending revel. Only Lucius and Severus were given a choice of their punishments.

"It has not been so many years since I have seen you: has it Severus?"

"No, My Lord." Severus answered carefully.

"I had been given reason to doubt your loyalty before then, and know I find that you have adopted the same worthless mudblood's spawn, the very creature laughably accredited with bringing me down. Accredited with my death, but i do not seem to be very dead. Do I, Severus?

Have you gambled so poorly in hopes of my demise, or like Lucius, had you hoped to have my enemy in reach to hand over at my whim?"

Severus eyed the younger incarnation of the Dark Lord, and Albus thought he could almost see the young man's analyzing and discarding plan after plan between the blinks of his eyes. It seemed to amuse Voldemort, for a cool smile grew on the young man's lips as he watched.

"Having difficulty trying to decide? Let's remove that difficulty shall we?" With a twist of his wand, the angel statue released Harry's wrists, dropping the trembling child to the ground at his feet.

"Return his wand to him, Peter, and step out of his way. Let's not keep father and son apart any longer."

Taking the comment as an opportunity to get closer to Harry, regardless of whatever Voldemort may have intended, Severus rushed to his son's side and helped the child up, cataloging as surreptitiously as possible Harry's injuries for treatment as soon as he could.

"Severus, even though you have not earned it, I will give you a choice as well. You may choose between yourself or your son. Kill him by your own hand .... or convince him to do the same."

Tears were running down Harry's face as he stared piteously at his father's grim expression.

"It's your choice, Severus."

"Myself!" Severus answered simply, handing his wand to Harry.

"No!" Harry shouted as Severus caught his hand forcing him to keep hold of his wand as he glanced around to see any opportunity that he could exploit. "I won't!"

"We need time, Harry, and an opportunity. We have to draw this out." Severus whispered as he pulled Harry directly in front of him blocking him from unexpected attacks.

"No? Well, let's see shall we? Circle them." Voldemort gestured the others of the death eaters to close around the pair.

"Curse Severus each time Potter refuses. Nothing fatal though. That is for Harry, himself, to provide."

Without thinking, Harry defied the wizard, "I won't do what you want."

The first round of curses ended before the words were completely out of his mouth and threw Severus into the dust at his son's feet.

"Are you so sure?"

"Stop it!" Harry shrieked again.

"Oh, Harry, don't you understand, you're the only one who can stop it."

"No. I won't..." Harry slapped his hands over his mouth as he realized what he had said, again.

It didn't stop the onslaught of curses; however, nor did throwing himself on his father. The death eaters had to be careful to miss Potter, but they had done this before during their revels, with muggleborns, who threw themselves across their parents or siblings bodies. Severus was much larger than his son, so it wasn't very difficult to find a spot to hit that wouldn't jeopardize the boy.

* * *

Albus watched on as his boys endured seven further rounds of curses - until Harry was crying out as if cursed himself with each strike, before Severus's hand had finally shot out, caught up his wand, and summoned the triwizard cup to them - catching both Voldemort and the other death eaters - who had assumed he was unconscious- by surprise.

The father and son disappeared before they could react, and Albus, his vigil over, returned to comfort his familiar. There was more to see, but his old friend had seen the most critical memories, and Albus hoped that his familiar could give him the guidance he needed.


	43. Chapter 43

The Tiniest Wish: Motherly Affections, part 43

Rating: T+

Summary: Madam Bullstrode's reaction

_A patter of applause rose throughout the hall, combined with pleasant laughter, _

_and excited gossip, as several rose to congratulate Millicent... both for Harry's strong performance, _

_and for their perceived cunning._

_Everyone in the room, including Madam Bullstrode, recognized that_

_ with Harry's social and political standing,_

_ as the Boy who Lived and the soon-to-be heir of an Ancient and Noble family, _

_the Bullstrodes had been virtually trapped in a betrothal agreement by the declaration. _

_It was in fact the primary purpose of the ancient formula -_

_ to announce the desires of an aristocratic family -_

_ to virtually steal the daughter of a usually lower standing house _

_( in terms of political, financial, and often military power) -_

_ behind a veil of civility so that the family could turn the daughter over_

_ before the higher placed family took more drastic measures. _

_Like the blood adoption that Harry had simultaneously announced, _

_though rarely performed, the formula was still honored - and often_

_ idealized as the romantic quest of those matched by true love - instead of planning-_

_who recognized that their actions might fly in the face of both their families, _

_hence the clear reminder of family status at the beginning of the form._

**Motherly Affections**, Part 43

"Come Millie," Madame Bullstrode finally caught up with her daughter and Harry moments after Harry's adopted father left them. "It's time for us to go."

"Please, Ms. Bullstrode, can't Millicent stay just a short while longer?" Potter whinged.

"No!" Cynthia Bullstrode answered, pulling her daughter away sharply, and barely refraining from an angry growl.

At first, she had been thoroughly elated at her daughter's very unexpected coupe, but as she had considered the matter more and more, barely aware of the mincey repast that Narcissa's elves were dropping at her table with poor practice, Madame Bullstrode had grown more and more irritable. Potter was an phenomenal political and social match for Millie personally.

Well, in truth, even grumpy Crouch would have been a far better match than Millie could have had any reason to hope for, being as plain and impertinent as she was, but Crouch hadn't been interested in the slightest, rebuffing her with an incensed assertion that he was not a paedarast- as if she had made such vile a comment. More likely, Crouch was casting aspersions on her daughter's unfeminine appearance and clumsy bearing, but still it was a very uncouth comment to make.

Cynthia had never bothered to hope that Millicent would have even the most marginal chance of catching Potter; it had been an almost impossible wish, but she had hoped that she and Millicent's father could take advantage of their daughter's friendship with the boy to find the girl a moderately influential match of some advantage. Now that the impossible had happened, only now, did Madam Bullstrode recognize how impossible it truly was: an inconceivable, inexplicable mistake that she couldn't think how to get her daughter out of, now that it had – against all probability- happened.

Millicent, the foolish girl, had, undoubtedly, assumed that her parents would be pleased with her rash decision to somehow trap the boy into a marriage proposal, with no true grasp of the complications. Had Potter simply been a well-to-do orphan, well, that would have been easily handled with a minimum of fuss. The boy seemed malleable enough, so readily grasping to the loathsome Professor as his guardian, that they could have had Millicent installed as his heir and him either manipulated into an advantageous position that they could reap the benefits of - or quietly subjected to a debilitating accident landing him in St. Mungos for what remained of his life - however long or short it best suited their fortunes to be.

But, no, Millicent had to barter herself off to the clingy charge of Severus Snape, a former Death-Eater, who had been well feared even in their ranks for his viciousness, cunning, and worse his complete unwillingness even minor slights. Regardless of how little Snape actually valued the boy's welfare, he would, without question, take it as a personal insult, if he suspected that the Bullstrodes had even considered taking advantage of his charge.

Worse yet, it was well known that Snape was Lucius's puppet, and Lucius' - Narcissa's veritable slave. Madam Bullstrode was absolutely certain that the grasping witch had intricate plans to take advantage of both the boy's influence and wealth, and now, their stupid daughter had just made herself one more pawn to the egotistical witch's ego.

There was only one chance she saw that they might have any opportunity to take advantage of their daughter's foolhardy decision, and that was to get the girl home so that her father could cast a few… useful spells on her. Oh, Millicent most likely wouldn't want to cooperate, but her father knew several ways, and spells to get around her reticence. First, she had to get the obstinate girl home, though, despite tradition, and if it didn't happen soon…

"Mrs. Bullstrode," a dry, stern voice caught Cynthia by surprise as she closed her nails on her daughter's wrist. "My grandson indicated that you were a pureblood?"

"Yes," Cynthia nearly snarled, only barely keeping her voice in civil tones by digging her unexpressed frustration into her daughter's wrist.

"And you received instruction in the traditional forms?"

"Yes, of course?" Cynthia realized where the withered woman's questions were headed, but groped for time to think of some alternative.

"Proper instruction?" Madam Snape's tone had almost the same sneering derision that characterized her loathsome son's tone and always rankled Cynthia's nerves, but somehow, Cynthia managed, just barely to maintain her temper.

"Of course, I've received proper instruction. Where do you think that my daughter learned all of the fine manner's that she tutored your grandson in? Didn't the boy and your son just acknowledge that in front of everyone?" Cynthia's temper slipped slightly, and her daughter hissed under her breath when Cynthia's nails dug just a little too deeply, but as it was all the girl's fault, she quickly dismissed the complaint.

"Hmm. Yes, Millicent possesses both a keen sense and demonstration of traditional etiquette; I was quite surprised." Snape's scathing gaze ran up and down Cynthia, making her insult clear.

Cynthia had no opening to respond without drawing more attention to the fact that she was attempting to skirt away with her daughter, despite the fact that the betrothal's tradition prevented it.

Seeming to recognize her dilemma, Snape smiled truculently, and suggested in an oily tone, "Why don't you join Millicent and I as we select an appropriate suite for her?"

"Really, that is not necessary, Millicent can as easily stay at home until the …"

"Nonsense, even if my son were not the traditionalist, which I assure you, he is - by form, tradition, and family custom, the Princes have always wished to initiate a future bride in her duties to her new family as well as the family traditions that are not made public, so that when she ultimately bonds with her husband they will be well prepared to uphold the Prince Legacy - no matter how close or far they settle."

Cynthia nearly cringed at the blunt challenge and released her hold on Millicent, pulling her daughter by the wrist and practically throwing her at the older woman.

"Here then, she's yours. Don't think of returning her though when you realize what a bad bargain you've made. She's never been anything but trouble." Without another word, Cynthia spun on her heel and rushed out. She knew she might have been a bit colder than … perhaps even a bit cruel, but her daughter had always been a disappointment, and she had her husband to deal with when she got home.

Had she turned, and seen the pained emptiness and resignation in her daughter's eyes, she might have hesitated, at least to soften her words, but probably not, and Millicent knew better than to even expect her to turn.

In a voice that barely quavered, she turned to Harry's grandmother and murmured, "I won't need a suite, Ma'am. I spend most of the year at school and … at home… I …"

She couldn't finish, but wouldn't let herself break down, not even in front of Harry, so just nodded and followed when Ms. Snape lead them to wing that Narcissa and Lucius had built on to the Manor as a wedding present to the Professor and Ms. Snape – so that they would have a second home whenever they felt like visiting for Christmas, holidays, or just so that the Draco and Harry could catch up with each other.

* * *

_A/N: My apologies for the short chapter and longer delay between. I'm really bushed with my jobs and business, and don't know how soon I might be able to post again, but wanted to at least give you a brief taste of things to come. Up Next: __The Malfoy-Snape Christmas with unexpected guests, Narcissa's reactions, and a note from the Ministry._


	44. Chapter 44

The Tiniest Wish, 44

Laying on his side, contemplating the silken strands of his wife's hair as they ran through his fingertips, Severus smiled softly as he felt the soft ringing of the curfew ward that he had placed on his son's door.

Watching as the color and texture of Nymphadora's hair shifted in her slept, Severus traced Harry's slow halting progress toward their bedroom. The curl of his smile softened as he felt his son's progress pause as if Harry were considering heading down to Draco's room or even Millicent's room instead, but discard it after a moment and hesitantly moving forward again. As anxious as Harry might be about their upcoming conversation, Severus had been certain that Harry's inborn streak of Gryffindorish nobility would not allow him to avoid their confrontation for long. True to form, Harry was soon standing in front of the door to the suite that he shared with Nymphadora.

Rather than tipping his son off to the presence of the wards on his sleeping chambers, Severus waited patiently for Harry to knock, After a few moments, though, it became apparent that his son was having difficulty working up the nerve to knock, but was still sufficiently in need of his attention to continue trying. Perhaps, he mused, it would benefit Harry to know that a monitoring spell was set on him. The wretched muggles had instilled in Harry such an expectation of neglect that Harry frequently appeared startled to find himself even noticed, but whether he would take it as meant, or believe that he wasn't trusted … Severus couldn't be certain and so had refrained from sharing that small detail.

Rising from his bed to answer the door before his son lost his nerve, Severus paused to rearrange the duvet over Nymphadora's shoulders- causing her to stir.

"Sev, what is it?"

"Harry has woken."

"Oh, here then," she began to rise, "I'll get him back to bed."

"I will," he answered, laying a restraining hand on her shoulder, "I suspect his conscience has been pricked because he had not taken the opportunity to speak with me before becoming betrothed."

"What!" she sat up bolt straight, staring at him with an oddly disbelieving expression.

"I believe his..."

"No, I got that part. He didn't talk to you before?"

"Nymphadora, is my memory in error or were we not in constant company the entire day before that?"

"Yeah, no, I mean... What I mean... You hadn't talked before that? This wasn't planned?"

"No, this was not planned. In truth, I had considered the possibility, but did not feel it appropriate to suggest the possibility to Harry,"

"Oh, I'm sorry." She blushed.

"Should I ask?"

"I half thought that you and Narcissa had ..." her expression was rather telling, causing an odd warmth to run through him. He could not remember having ever been the cause of another's jealousy, and the realization that Nymphadora was inclined to feel possessive toward him was rather novel.

"We will speak of this later. If I delay overlong, Harry may talk himself back to bed."

"Would that be so bad?" Nymphadora asked with a slightly suggestive smile.

"When it means that he will huddle in his bed- allowing his guilt and insecurities plague him into a sleepless night, yes, it would be bad." Severus commented as he donned his robe and cinched the waist belt.

"Oh." she answered with a slightly sheepish expression. "You go on, then. I can wait up."

Arching a bemused eyebrow at her, Severus nodded and hurried to their suite door even as he felt Harry's retreat. The ward on Harry's door signaled his return just as Severus reached the hall, with a frustrated sigh.

Perhaps, this was for the better, though, as it would allow him to maintain the integrity and usefulness of his wards without testing Harry's insecurities.

Severus was aware that both Narcissa and Nymphadora thought that he was too lenient towards Harry's recent mood swings, but neither woman truly had a grasp on the true nature of Harry's childhood, nor had either woman been marked so could not understand the destabilizing effects of the dark mark. He had not been understating, earlier, his belief that Harry was remarkable in his response to the tribulations he had faced. For Severus, the dark mark had represented unremittent pain, foul night mares that would - for a lesser man- be describable as night terrors, and mood swings so rapid that even he had sometimes feared for his sanity.

Even Lucius, who had been on of the Dark Lord's favored and years older than Harry had been, when he was marked, had not shown the restraint that Harry had when the pain and mood swings took hold.

Thankfully, Harry had not locked the door behind him, so Severus was easily able to quietly open it and slip into Harry's room. Although not entirely intending to surprise his son, Severus had hoped to catch Harry sufficiently off guard that he did not stop to ask how his father had known he was awake. As it turned out though, it was Severus that would be startled by his son's appearance.

Rather than returning to his bed, as Severus had expected him to, Harry had wrapped himself in a dressing robe and perched himself in the odd straight-backed dressing chair that Narcissa had claimed was a necessary addition to the room so that Harry would not develop the gauche habit of sitting on his bed to put on his house slippers, nor fall in the habit of delaying his dressing once risen. Severus could not fathom why his son would choose to sit in the stiff little straight-backed, no doubt uncomfortable, chair over his warm comfortable mattress until he caught a glimpse of Harry's troubled expression.

Harry child was pale to the point of bloodless. His sleeping clothes were alarmingly disheveled, and his hair was pointing out in rather more directions than a thistle blossom. His eyes, which were only visible between nervous sweeps of his hand through his increasingly chaotic hair, were fixed on his bed with a look that was torn between longing and loathing. Clearly, he had mixed feelings about returning to sleep that Severus recognized and understood all too well.

"Harry," he asked softly, "are you being troubled by nightmares?"

That Harry attempted to compose his expression into what he colloquially called his 'Slytherin face' troubled Severus, but he elected not to address it until he had seen to more immediate concerns. After a valiant attempt, however, Harry appeared to recognize that Severus was not being fooled, and his face descended into an expression of sheer misery. His head minutely bobbled in what might have been an incredibly reluctant nod.

"May I ask why you thought to keep this from me?"

His son's shoulders lifted a fraction of a centimeter in the most timorous imitation of a shrug, before the child remembered himself and straightened, answering softly, "It's Christmas, Sir. I didn't want to bother you and...Tonks... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have knocked, but with the party, I hadn't asked Lady Malfoy and didn't want to disturb her either with Mr. Malfoy just home."

"Asked Lady Malfoy?"

Harry paled, realizing too late that his father would quickly realize what he'd meant, and then ask Lady Malfoy, and then she'd tell his father what he'd told her, and that she'd told him to talk with his father and then he'd know that he hadn't and then he'd think that Harry didn't trust him, which wasn't true at all, with what he'd done - earlier in the evening without even speaking to his father- his father was sure to think he was too much trouble for sure and want to get out of the adoption and then, where would Millicent go because Harry was fairly certain that her mom had just told her not to come back.

"I-I was sup-pos-ed to - to tell you. Lady Malfoy t-told me to tell you... when you returned from your honeymoon, but the aurors found your mum; and I didn't want to bother you and Tonks; and then everyone was getting ready for the party; and Lord Malfoy came home; and then Millie kissed me; and I asked her... well to you know... and then I asked Draco how I was supposed to ask her the right way; and he told me that I had to ask you first; but I hadn't; and I couldn't take back that I had asked her because I still meant to ask her; and it would have hurt her if I did; and I didn't want to hurt her, but I didn't want to disrespect you, either; and so Draco helped me look up how we could do it right... you know and still; and there was so much to think about that I just forgot to tell you, or ask you, or anything; and I... I'm sorry. I really am."

The child's sincere guilt and anxiety were quite nearly palpable - reminding Severus yet again that, despite a year's worth of progress, irregardless of the support and positive reinforcement that the child had received during that time, his son still carried the insidious emotional scars borne from his relatives' constant rejection, neglect, and abuse and seemed incapable of believing that he was not an unwelcome burden.

With this in mind, Severus held his patience and waited out Harry's recital of intervening events, until his son finally broke for air.

"I do believe that there may be far too many 'ands' in the statement to be strictly grammatical. First, before we move further into addressing your current difficulty, let me assure you that I quite understand why you felt compelled to act as you have, and I am not angered in the slightest. " as Severus spoke, Harry's posture straightened with surprise. He truly appeared to have expected some form of tongue lashing.

"Of course, I would have appreciated the opportunity to speak with you before hand; however, I am certainly well aware of how easily it can be to find yourself swept up in events. I neither fault your logic, nor your choice of companions, nor even your laudable solution to the dilemma... as well as future dilemmas you may not have been aware of... for instance you may not have been aware that unlike the muggle world, in the wizarding world, marriage and betrothal contracts are permitted even from birth; although such contracts are rapidly fading out in all but the oldest families, it is not uncommon for a young couple of even thirteen to find themselves betrothed."

As soon as it was clear that he had diverted Harry's attention, Severus gestured Harry out of the chair and into the bed as he pointedly moved the chair close for his own use. Although his son hesitantly climbed back in, as he settled under the covers color returned; and his breathing eased, he cocked his head again to indicate that he was ready for Severus's lecture to continue.

Only too happy to comply, Severus gestured him back into the pillows as he pulled the duvet up under Harry's outstretched arms and continued: "As a result, if you had not had the sense to settle such reasonable contract for yourself, over the next two years, it is not improbable that you would have found yourself besieged by a multitude of young ladies ranging from first through seventh years - vie-ing for you attention for your attention with nothing other than self-interest and social status on their minds. I assure you it would have been quite nuisance-some for myself, Nymphadora, and yourself included. The sheer number of teas that we would have been honor bound to accept and the accompanying small talk …. Ughhh... the mere thought of it makes me shudder." Your arrangement has quite neatly thwarted any such occurrence..." Severus continued the discussion in ever-softening, ever-more bland tones until Harry's breathing evened and slowed, his eyes fluttered then closed, and the pinched lines between his brows that Severus had only just noticed finally relaxed.

Pausing to lower the lights, Severus stared quietly at his son, wondering how deeply indebted he would be to Narcissa by the time Harry graduated. He had not even noticed Harry's sleeping issues before going on the abbreviated honeymoon with Nymphadora, and Harry clearly hadn't felt secure in sharing his troubles with Severus, no doubt worrying that either Severus. So, once again, just as she had with the ballet lessons and Harry's remarkable birthday party, Narcissa had come to the rescue again - quite likely adapting the potion that he had invented to free Lucius from his own dark mark-induced night terrors to Harry's needs.

As he was staring, thin muscular arms slid around his waist and a sharp jutting chin poked his back.

"I was beginning to think that you'd gotten lost." Nymphadora accused with a yawn.

"No, but I haven't found my way, yet, either." He responded enigmatically, ignoring the look of confusion flitted over her expression.

"I will, though," he promised Harry. "I will."


End file.
